To AG, A Pair of White Orchids, Signed SP
by editor frog
Summary: When two brilliant technical analysts go missing on the same night, it's up to Chase Davis and the BAU to figure out what's really behind their disappearance, as nothing is as it seems to be...
1. Gone with the Night

**So I got quite the response as to another Chase and Kyle story, and here is the beginning of the result. Hope this finds readers in a mysterious kind of mood!**

**A/N: In this story some characters speak using American Sign Language. If you see dashes surrounding dialogue, it means it's being signed. If there's quotes _and _dashes, it means it's being signed and spoken.**

**General Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine. But Kyle Parker, Chase Davis, and the Stackhouses are.**

* * *

It had been a good night at the tables. Kyle Parker managed to leave the back room of the Stackhouse with an extra 75 dollars in his wallet, which was no small feat—he'd had to play against Cameron Stackhouse himself at euchre, and he'd come up ahead.

--How did I just beat you?—the young man asked, looking on at his usual euchre partner in disbelief. –Cam, you and Joe usually stomp everyone during euchre tournament week…--

--Luck of the cards, I guess,-- said the older man, who for losing at his favorite card game didn't seem all that upset. With a twinkle in his eye, he signed, --Maybe now you can take out that girl you've been seeing…Beth, isn't it?—

--Chasie…-- Kyle said, throwing pointed signs at the young woman sitting across from him.

--What?—

--You told.—

--_You_ haven't exactly kept it a secret,-- Chase retorted. –Within like three weeks everyone knew you were seeing her, pal.—A mischievous smile played on her lips. –Too many late night dinners…--

--Shut up.-- Now even Kyle was smiling.

--All right, you three, closing time,-- signed Joseph Stackhouse, who gently ushered the last of the eager onlookers towards the door. –Early day you two have, don't you?—

--Yeah. Have to go into D.C. tomorrow, for work.—Chase's face was a mirror to her thoughts about going in to see about another 'job' she might have to work on. –Looks bad, Kyle.—

--Just glad I never have to go,-- he signed. –One of the great things about being severely hard-of-hearing…no one bothers to have you go to meetings.-- The smile on his face grew wider.

--Shut up.—

--Hey, I'm just saying.—

The two walked up Postman Ave. and headed towards the Institute Campus. Chase stopped in front of the campus grounds, waving her good-byes as she headed left towards her private suite in the student housing sector. Kyle continued straight on towards his loft, thinking about the possibilities tomorrow would bring.

_Maybe the job Chase has for me will be cake, _he thought. _Promised Beth I'd take her out somewhere, and with this extra windfall I can make it something nice._ He'd started seeing Beth only about three months since the Brennan affair, and though there was a five-year age difference between the two (Kyle was twenty-seven, after all) the two seemed to have a lot in common.

Kyle took the six steps up the front porch towards the narrow door that led to his staircase. He didn't bother to check the mail, as nothing ever came for him on a Tuesday, and began heading up the small steps. Once inside his loft, the exhausted man made a beeline for his bed, pulling off his shirt and socks and falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow. He never noticed the small pinprick that stabbed his arm an hour later, nor the hands that lifted him out of his bed and out the doorway…

* * *

Penelope Garcia had a lot to be happy about.

She had managed to get one whole day of work that _didn't_ involve seeing images of some poor soul being mutilated, tortured, or otherwise harmed in any way, shape, or form. She'd gotten a surprise phone call from two floors up asking her if she liked Italian food, and at the end of her shift she'd been whisked off by her FBI technical-analyst-in-shining-armor to a secluded booth that gave them a great view and allowed for a little 'private time' between coffee refills and linguini.

"Pinch me," she said happily as she and Kevin walked down the block to her apartment.

"Why?"

"Because today has been _too _perfect. It's like a really, really good dream that's gotta end at some point, you know?"

"Why does it have to end?" Kevin asked, a slow grin curling underneath his cute little nose.

"Right now, who says it _does_?" countered Garcia, unfurling a seductive look of her own.

After several hours of wanton bliss (and a shower or two), both analysts were fast asleep, curled up underneath thick purple blankets and hot pink throw pillows. Kevin had forgotten his 'surprise' for Garcia—an emerald and garnet ring set off by diamond chips—in the glove box of his car, and privately thought before he drifted off to sleep that he would surprise his dream girl with it in the morning, after a nice long breakfast.

The two were so warm and comfortable they didn't notice the door to the apartment being pried open, nor the heavy footsteps that gathered around the bed. Neither one noticed the tiny pinprick that was shot into their forearms, and Kevin was so out of it he never felt Garcia's warm, snuggly form being lifted out of bed and carried away into the night.

* * *

The first thing Garcia noticed when she woke up was that it was awfully bright. Bright and chilly. Still half-asleep, the technical analyst reached for the thick fuzzy comforter she knew was on top of her and rolled over. However, her hands didn't register a thick, fuzzy blanket—rather, it was a light silk one, just thick enough to garner the name of 'blanket' if nothing else.

"Stop hogging the covers," she mumbled as she rolled over in an attempt to unwind the comforter from around Kevin's neck. "It's freezing in here…"

A light hand shook her gently, in an attempt to wake her up.

"Leemee 'lone," Garcia half-mumbled, half-snapped as she wrapped the silk blanket tighter around her. Her teeth began to chatter slightly as the chill persisted.

The hand shook her again, more forcefully this time. He didn't want to have to hit her…

"For the love of God, knock it off!" Garcia finally yelled, reaching out to slap the annoying hand off of her shoulder.

The voice she heard was not one she expected. Instead of being all apologetic and full of stammers, it was garbled and squawk-like.

"Wake up, Garcia!" the voice said, jumbling the words so much that Garcia barely made them out.

"Boy, I must really be out of it," she mumbled to herself as she tried to force her heavy eyelids open. The sight that greeted her eyes was one that made her really sit up and take notice immediately.

Instead of the warm brick and flashy purples and pinks that dominated her living space, the walls of this _particular_ room were white. Stark, bright white, with lights that glared off of them to make them seem even brighter. Looking down at her lap, she noticed that instead of warm, fuzzy fleece blankets and soft sheets, she was lying on white damask sheets and covered in a silk coverlet. Nearby a white housecoat hung on a wall hanger, looking as if it had been made of silk instead of terrycloth.

What really made Garcia realize that something wasn't quite right, however, was the face that stared back at her. Instead of the slightly geeky love-of-her-life, the blue eyes and black hair of a friend looked back at her.

"K-Kyle?" she said, shaking her head to clear some of the fog out of it. "Is that…is that _you?_"

Kyle settled down on top of the small bed, looking at the face of his friend. He'd only woken up about an hour ago, and had been put on edge when he realized he wasn't waking up to flashing lights and the smell of golden retriever.

--Are you okay?—he signed, hoping she remembered the signs.

Garcia stared out at him like he was a piece of glass.

"Are you okay?" he said, using his voice this time. Slowly, the woman nodded.

"I…I think so," she said. "What…what happened?"

It took Kyle a minute to read her lips. –"I don't know,"—he said, moving his hands as he spoke. –"But I don't like it."—

It took Garcia several minutes to realize that Kyle was dressed only from his waist to his ankles. Grabbing the housecoat, she said, "Take this."

--"I'm okay."—

The look Garcia gave the young man needed no translation. He took the housecoat out of the analyst's hands and pulled it over his frame.

Remembering a few of the signs she'd learned since hitting up the Stackhouse's euchre tables, she picked up her hands. –"Where are we?—she asked, mixing up the sign for "when" and "where."

Kyle understood. –"I have no idea, but I think we're about to find out,"-- he said, as three shapes moved closer to them.

* * *

Kevin woke up to the sound of silence. The alarm clock hadn't gone off, the phone hadn't rung, the coffee hadn't been started and there hadn't even been the sound of water spraying down onto the stiff concrete floor of the shower. Shaking his head to whisk away some of the sleep from it, he looked over at the side of the bed where Garcia had slept. It was empty.

"She's not here," a voice said, startling him into full consciousness.

Pulling the thick purple blanket around his barely-clothed form, he bolted upright and saw a shape sitting in the darkness. "Who-who are you?" he asked, his voice rising a little. "And where's Penelope?"

"I don't know. And you'll have to come with me if we're going to find out." The shape picked itself up from the chair it had been sitting on, revealing the face of a young woman with dark hair and green eyes. "Come on," she said flatly, leaving no room for discussion. "Get dressed. Right now you're the only one who can help me find Penelope—and my partner."

"W-what?" Too many things were going on at once, and none of them on a computer screen. Kevin slowly reached for the clothes he'd worn last night, not really caring that they looked like they'd seen action in a dustmop competition.

The woman glanced around the room, as if she were looking for something out of place. "Come on. Only place we'll be safe is in her office, and that's a long way from here. Time's a-wasting."

Kevin finished dressing and followed the mysterious woman out the door, hoping that their destination would give him some more answers.

* * *

At nine o'clock sharp a bright-eyed Emily came in with a box loaded down with pastries from the local shop. Several pairs of eyes managed to stop the agent as she opened the box and said, "Help yourselves. I'm just going to give these ones to Garcia…"

As soon as she opened the door, however, she nearly dropped the intended breakfast surprise. Sitting in Garcia's favorite chair was her boyfriend, Kevin Lynch, who was hard at work on something on Garcia's system.

"Kevin?" Emily asked. "What the hell are you doing in here? Where's Garcia?"

"I wish I knew," said another voice from behind her. Emily spun around to see the face of Chase Davis staring straight at her.

"I-huh-what?"

"She's gone missing, Emily," Chase said simply, belying no emotion. "Her and Kyle both, on the same night, in what looks like the same manner. And we need to find out why, fast. How soon are the rest of your people in?"

"About half an hour, though I can call…"

"Half an hour will do. Calls could be traced."

"There something I need to know about, Chase?"

"Yes." The young woman didn't elaborate further.

Emily was now shifting into full defense mode. What wasn't Chase telling her?


	2. A Pair of White Orchids

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

As the shapes began to move closer, Kyle stood up, making sure he was standing just slightly in front of where Garcia was sitting. There was a look about the man in the middle of the group that didn't set well with him…

--"Good morning,"—the man in the middle said, signing as he spoke. –"I hope you both slept well?"—

Neither analyst said anything—Garcia out of fear, Kyle because he wanted to play things close to the vest. The young man shifted his weight slightly, keeping himself between this unknown entity and Garcia.

--Mr. Parker, I can assure you I have no intention of harming Miss Garcia,-- the man in the middle signed. –Nor you, as long as you both cooperate.—

--"Cooperate with what?—Kyle asked, voicing his query mainly for Garcia's benefit.

--"It appears I'm in need of your services,"—the man replied, once again signing and speaking. –"I need both of you to…_access_ a few things for me; things I'm not able to get a hold of myself."—

Kyle had a feeling he knew what was going on. "You want us to hack something," he said.

The man's head tilted an eighth of an inch. "Yes."

"Something we wouldn't normally."

Another tilt of the head. "Yes."

--How did you know I spoke sign?—

A slow, satisfied smile crossed the man's face. The two men who flanked him on either side remained expressionless. –You'll find there's a lot I know about both of you. For example, I know that you two share some 'mutual friends' that may be of use to me later…--

Kyle could feel the confusion radiating off Garcia's form as he watched her take in the signs the two men made. Though both she and Dr. Reid had taken the 'informal' courses at the Stackhouse euchre tables, there'd been a lot of signs that hadn't been covered. Turning to her, he made a total of five signs he was certain she knew—'he,' 'know,' 'friends,' 'mine' and 'you.' The subtle widening of Garcia's eyes told him she'd gotten the message.

"They won't help," she said plainly. Her eyes, until a second before, had been focused on the small objects that the flanking men held loosely in their hands. No matter how much Morgan told her they were real, she still didn't want to believe in them.

--"As it turns out, your services won't be needed for a day or two,-- the man in the middle continued. –"Therefore, I welcome you to make yourselves comfortable here in the meantime. Is there anything I can have sent for you, perhaps?"—

Garcia could think of a million things she'd _like—_a telephone, for one, or even directions towards the front door. Kyle, on the other hand, made a surprising request.

--I'd like to send a letter, if I may,-- he signed. –My…'friend,' as you put it, will undoubtedly be looking for me, and a telephone is pretty useless to me…--

The man in the middle thought about this. His face frowned a little as he considered the request.

--Sir, you have the advantage over me, as I don't know who you are,-- Kyle added. –But if you know me at all, you know she'll be working as we speak to find out where I am. I…-- Kyle's fingers hesitated a bit, as if he were looking for the right sign. –I can't imagine you'd want her involved at this point…--

The frown deepened. –Very well,-- he relented. –One letter. I'll have the paper sent up, and it will be sent today.—

"Thank you," Kyle said.

The man looked at Garcia. "Is there anything you'd like sent for, Miss Garcia?"

Slowly, Garcia began to shake her head. She felt like she would be betraying more than her country if she took anything from this man. As he turned to leave, however, she called out, "Could I have some water?"

"Yes. I'll have it sent along with breakfast." The three men then slowly walked back to the point where they'd entered and suddenly vanished.

Hurrying over to the 'vanishing point,' Garcia began looking in earnest for the door. If there was one, it was well hidden.

Defeated, the analyst turned towards her companion. "What did you ask them for?" she said, the worry evident in her voice. Kyle picked up on the worry through her expression—sad, distant, slightly determined.

--"I asked if I could send a letter,"—Kyle said. His eyes were looking for deviances in the walls or the sparse furniture that had been left in the very large room. Microphones he could beat easily, but the man had shown he knew more about them than he was willing to let on about. Casting a knowing glance towards Garcia, he set his thumb and index finger apart slightly, and then held both up to his ear. It wasn't a 'true' sign, per se, but it was enough to tip Garcia to what he was doing—looking for surveillance bugs. As the woman began casting pointed glances towards the table lamp and the area near both beds, Kyle waved to get her attention.

--We're going to have to use sign, I think, if we don't want to be overheard.--

Garcia began to open her mouth to say something, but Kyle immediately silenced her. Running through the signs he was certain she knew, he tapped his ears and used his finger to slowly circle the entire room. –They might be listening,-- he signed.

"I don't…" she began, trying to remember the sign for 'don't know.' She settled for tapping her head and looking pitifully confused. Garcia then wiggled her fingers, mistaking the word 'fingerspell' for 'sign.'

Kyle understood. "I'll teach you," he said, using his voice this time. "Not like there's anything else to do…" The young man smiled, hoping to soothe the clearly anxious woman. Truth be told, he was more than a little on edge himself.

Suddenly the mysterious man appeared again, followed by another carrying an extremely oversized tray. The second man placed the tray on the table, took the lid, and exited immediately.

--"I took the liberty,"—he said, noticing that his 'guests' were eying the contents of the tray suspiciously. –"I can assure you, nothing there has been tampered with."—

Cautiously, Garcia sat down at the small table. She wasn't all that hungry, but she did pour herself a glass of water from a tall pitcher. _Whatever it takes to keep this guy from shooting us,_ she thought to herself.

The man cast a pointed glance at Kyle, who then resigned himself to following Garcia's lead. As he did, the man handed Kyle three sheets of blank paper and an ink pen.

--"Send this out with the tray; someone will come for it in an hour,"—the man said, making sure he was understood by both parties seated in front of him.

--"How will you send this?"—Kyle asked.

–"Rest assured, I have people who are more than capable of sending your letter undetected. Now, if there's nothing else, please, enjoy your breakfast,"—the man said, slowly making his way out the door. Kyle resisted the urge to rush him and find the door himself, mainly because this time the man had come armed with a small-caliber pistol.

Kyle set to work at once. Before long the letter was finished, and he unhappily settled into his breakfast.

* * *

It had taken Emily the better part of an hour to finally assemble most of the team. The weather outside was nothing short of horrendous, and even the trains were moving slowly, causing lateness the likes of which she hadn't seen since she was a child living abroad.

What had been even harder was that she needed to get everyone in the conference room, but couldn't answer any questions—mainly because she knew very little about what was going on herself. In Garcia's office, Kevin Lynch was working overtime looking for something that it seemed even Chase Davis herself couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Emily, what's going on?" JJ asked finally, looking cross as the petite woman shook the rain out of her drenched hair. "I've got a lot of paperwork, and now with all this…"

Two more sets of eyes stared at her, silently asking the very same question.

"Fine. Go into Garcia's office and tell me what you see," she said finally, keeping an eye peeled for Hotch and Rossi to walk in the door. Because both agents drove themselves into work, Emily had the sneaking suspicion that this could take a while.

Morgan strode over to Garcia's door, turning the handle as he spoke. "Baby girl, something wrong in there?" he asked, expecting at the worst a snappy comeback about worrying about her too much.

What the three agents did _not _expect to see, however, was the sight of someone else combing through their beloved technical analyst's prized computer system—even if it was someone the team had grown to accept.

"Kevin, what are you doing here?" JJ asked. Reid and Morgan were too confused to even let their minds get the words out.

"Hey, ask your friend in the shadows over there," Kevin said shortly, waving a hand towards the corner of the room. "I woke up this morning to find her in the room instead of Penelope, and she's not telling me much other than 'go through the entire system and look for something wrong.' I mean, there's bugs and glitches in _every _system, and she's got me going through, like, the world's toughest one built here…"

"Well, then you won't like where I send you next," a familiar voice said, floating from behind the door. "'Cause that system's just as bad, if not worse…or, so he tells me…"

Morgan threw the door closed behind them, casting a bit of light on their 'mystery guest.' "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Not that I'm not happy to see you or anything…"

Chase smiled, a thin, mirthless smile. "Last night two of the best technical hackers on the planet went missing. I'm certain you can guess which two."

"What happened to Garcia?" Morgan's entire expression turned deadly serious, and fast.

"Same thing that happened to Kyle," Chase said. "Believe me, Morgan, you and I are working on the same wavelength—but right now, that's not going to help. Right now I need to know why those two were snatched, and for what purpose. As it stands, things aren't looking too good…"

"Why not?" Reid had finally found his voice.

Chase let out a sigh; it came out as more of a forced puff of air from her nostrils. "Because of this," she said, handing the team's youngest agent a small slip of paper. It contained exactly five names on it.

"Who are…" Reid began, and then took a closer look at the names in front of him. "Oh," he said, his lips forming a small 'O' of startled surprise.

"'Oh,' what?" said Emily, who was still on the lookout for the remaining agents still not accounted for.

Reid leaned in towards Kevin, who was still fighting with Garcia's system. "Can you pull these up on the screen?" he asked.

"Sure, if you stop breathing on my shoulder," Kevin replied. Reid took a step back as the analyst found files on all five people listed on the slip.

"A mechanic, a chemist, an engineer, a student and the son of a diplomat," Emily noted. "What's the connection?"

"All five of those people disappeared within the last month, all in the same way Garcia and Kyle disappeared. Seems whoever's behind this had a need for technical analysts as well," she muttered, cursing herself for not having done something to prevent this.

Reid studied the names more carefully. "I think it's more than just that," he said, a flash of recognition crossing his features.

"How so?"

"Well, see this man here? The one in the middle?"

Five pairs of eyes stared at the photograph on the screen. The man was an engineer, not an uncommon profession…

"He's a second-generation robotics engineer. His father was a chemical engineer, and they specialize in creating robotics and some chemical weapons for government and military uses."

"Reid, how on earth did you…"

"One of my doctorates _is_ in engineering…"

"Right. Never mind."

"That's not the only one that's interesting," said Emily, staring at the last picture in the row. "I know that guy—he's Thomas Charles."

"Thomas Charles?"

"His dad does a lot of diplomatic work—know the guy because of my mother," Emily explained. "He's done a lot to help build relations in the Baltic and Middle East…"

Chase frowned. "I don't like where this is going. We need to find out more about these people—especially who they're related to or associated with. I have a feeling these weren't random disappearances…and that Kyle and Garcia might be just a step to something else…"

The room instantly fell silent.

Just then a clatter arose from the bullpen, and Emily stuck her head outside Garcia's door. Inside was a pair of legs holding a giant vase of what _looked_ like flowers…

"There someone named Chase Davis here?" a voice squeaked, buried underneath the flowers.

JJ picked up the man's pen. "I'll sign for them," she said, expertly forging the name onto the form.

"Thanks. Never had flowers like this sent. Ugly, aren't they?"

"There's no accounting for taste," JJ said diplomatically.

The little man shrugged, turning on his heel and making his way out of the office.

Emily stared at the large flowers—there were two white blossoms surrounded by what looked like _black_ blossoms, all arranged neatly in a tall glass vase.

Chase came out of the office and studied the contents of the vase carefully. "Orchids," she said, going over each blossom.

"The hell does that mean?" Morgan asked, completely clueless.

"What does what mean?" asked a familiar voice, holding an envelope in his hand. "Someone slipped this in with my mail…"

Rossi handed over a manila envelope. It read, "White Orchids." "I assume it goes along with these?"

Chase opened the envelope at once. Three pieces of paper spilled out.

_AG:_

_I know we were supposed to meet later today, but I'm going to have to cancel. AZ is keeping us plenty busy, and I'm not sure when I'll be back. Send my regards to everyone; I must confess that even the best families sometimes have their villainous troubles._

_SP_

The other two pieces of paper were blank.

"Why send us blank sheets?" Rossi asked. "Why not use them?"

"He did, Agent Rossi," Chase said, making a beeline for Garcia's office.

The six members of the BAU studied the note carefully. If there was a message there, it wasn't one any of them could figure out.


	3. Book Code

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1. The Wolfe canon is not mine either; that belongs to the estate of Rex Stout.**

* * *

"It's a three-line note, obviously written in some form of shorthand or code," Reid said finally. "And it's not one I'm picking up on. Whatever the code is, it's not meant to be very obvious."

Perplexed, the team wandered back in towards Garcia's office. Chase stood in the far corner, watching as Kevin began pulling up file after file on one person or another the young woman had apparently deemed 'important.'

"Who're all those people?" Morgan asked. "And how are they going to help find Garcia?"

"It's as I thought," Chase said. "Remember when we were talking about two of those missing people on that list—the engineer and the diplomat's son?"

"Yeah; so what?"

Chase sat down next to the computer and picked a file out on the screen. "Each one of the people on that list is able to build, obtain, or access something most people can't."

"Like government-grade weapons systems," said Reid.

"Or gain easy access to government buildings here and abroad," said Emily.

"Exactly. Each one of these people is capable of something along those lines, but they also have one other commonality…"

"They all have relatives or close relationships with people who can also do things most people can't," said Reid suddenly, making the connection. "That engineer, his father makes chemical weapons; and-and that diplomat…"

Chase nodded.

"So, then, what's the significance of this girl here?" Morgan asked, pointing at the fourth picture—it was of a girl who looked about twenty.

"We're still working on that," Chase said, studying the floor. "God, I wish Kyle were here—he knows more about this kind of thing than I do."

"I thought your business was in information," JJ remarked.

"It is. Just not through computers; not like this."

"So what exactly did that letter say, anyway?" Morgan asked, the worry over Garcia evident.

"Huh?"

"Flowers? Mysterious letter? Ringing any bells?"

"Oh, the letter. Um, it said that whoever has them is a part of a larger group, that he's probably met the man in charge, and that it's not going to be easy to get them out of this," Chase said.

Reid looked down at the paper he still held in his hand. "What?" he cried. "How are you getting all that out of _this_?"

"You're a reader, right?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me you've heard of Nero Wolfe."

The confusion on six faces was evident. "Who?"

"Old mystery series, chronicled the cases of a private detective and his assistant. Kyle and I both read them—was how I first met him, actually, over one of those novels—and since we've been working together we sometimes reference things from that literary canon when we don't want people knowing what we're talking about."

"So a book code," Emily said finally.

"In a manner of speaking. AG stands for Archie Goodwin—Wolfe's assistant and the "man about town." That's me. SP stands for Saul Panzer—'the best operative in New York, and worth double whatever he charges."

"Kyle," Morgan said, finally getting the idea.

"Yep. The last line tells me what the final set of initials stand for—Arnold Zeck."

"Who was he?"

"Think the Wolfe canon equivalent to Moriarty. Zeck was the only recurring villain; he appeared in three novels, all of which Kyle referenced in the last line."

Reid scanned the last line. "'_I must confess that even the best families sometimes have their villainous troubles.'" _

"Yeah. In the novel _And Be A Villain_ Zeck ran a blackmail scheme that led to murder; he did this again in _The Second Confession _and _In the Best Families._ Kyle's just told us that whoever has him and Garcia is heading up an organization, which our 'Zeck' leads, or is highly placed in. Like as not it's going to take us figuring out the connection between these missing people to figure out what this organization is and what they're up to."

"And why they'd want Garcia."

Chase nodded again. "And Kyle."

Reid scanned the note again. "And about the regards?"

"Eh?"

" 'Send my regards to everyone?'"

"That, I'm not as sure. Could be he's telling us they both know that we're looking for them, or…"

"Or what?" Rossi asked.

"Or," she said, her face deadly serious, "…it could be a warning."


	4. Breakfast

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

Breakfast was a subdued affair. Though everything that had been sent was exquisite—hot coffee, the pitcher of water, orange juice, Belgian waffles, a bowl of fresh raspberries and crisp bacon—Garcia felt she couldn't stomach more than a glass of water. There was just something off about the whole thing…

_If these people are keeping us against our will, why are they treating us so well?_ she wondered.

Looking over at her companion, she saw that the thought had crossed his mind too. He was half-heartedly picking apart a piece of waffle, looking as though it were made of sand and silt rather than flour and butter.

Then there was the room itself. Everything in it was white—blinding white. The only shades of color other than in the food were in Kyle's badly faded jeans and her own hot-pink pajamas. There were no windows, no signs of a door (though obviously one was certainly around somewhere) and no sounds of life other than the ones they made themselves.

Involuntarily, Garcia stifled a yawn. Despite the wonder and fear that coursed through her, she was incredibly tired. She noticed that Kyle's eyes were beginning to droop and she'd had to move quickly to keep his head from falling flat into his plate. A garble of sounds escaped his lips, sounds that proved he was in fact awake but not entirely.

"Not tampered with, ha!" Garcia muttered bitterly. She pushed the glass of water aside, afraid to take another sip.

--"Something wrong?"—Kyle asked, his hands saying more than his voice.

Garcia ran through the short lexicon of signs she knew. She settled for pointing at the food and making a very pointed face. The look she got from the young man told her he understood.

--"I know,"— he said, pointing at himself and then tapping his forehead.

Mindful of Kyle's earlier worry about surveillance, Garcia simply mouthed her next question silently. "Why are we here?"

Kyle shrugged. –"If they're going to lock me up, I kind of wish they'd have left a deck of cards,"— he said, a half-serious, half-bemused expression crossing his face. He then tapped two "E" shaped hands together, and Garcia knew instantly what he wanted the cards for.

"Only two people?" she asked. "It's a four person game…"

--"Better than sitting idle and worrying,"— Kyle replied. He then signed something slowly, making sure she caught each sign. –We've searched the room, and there's no way out I can see. We'll have to wait for an opportunity to arise.—

A frown crossed the plump woman's face. –What about cameras?—she asked, using the sign for "picture" instead of "camera."

"Not much we can do," Kyle said.

Suddenly Kyle's face fell blank. "What?" Garcia asked.

Kyle tipped his head a fraction of an inch. Garcia spun in the chair to see the man who'd brought the tray in, accompanied by another holding a pistol.

"I must ask that you remain where you are," the companion said sharply, enunciating himself as much as possible.

Neither Garcia nor Kyle dared do more than breathe. The table was quickly cleared, and the remains of breakfast made their way out of the room.

"My employer would like to know if you require a bath," the companion said as soon as the room had been vacated.

Kyle looked on in confusion. The sentence had been slurred together somewhat, and the heavy desire to fall asleep didn't help matters any.

"Yes, please—for both of us," Garcia said quickly. Though she felt like some sort of traitor as she said it, she knew the water would help wake both of them out of this persistent sleep state.

The man then tossed something small at Kyle, who barely caught it before it fell off the table. "Very well." Backing slowly, he kept the pistol trained at both figures seated at the table until he fell back into the blinding light and was _whooshed_ out.

"The door's operated on a seal of some kind—there's this sound, like wind blowing, every time it opens," Garcia said, pleased she'd been able to figure out that much thus far.

—"What did he ask you?"—

Garcia mimed scrubbing her arms with a washcloth.

--"Oh. Good idea."-- Kyle paused, then continued in sign. –Maybe we'll get to see something outside of this room…I mean, there's no bathtub or shower in here that I can see…--

Garcia let out a puff of exasperated air. She was clearly at odds with herself—she felt like she was being treated like a princess, but knew it was at a terrible (and possibly more horrific) cost, not to mention…

"Why did they say they knew our friends?" Garcia asked. The thought had been stinging like a pesky insect for some while now.

Kyle shrugged. –I guess it's a form of leverage against us, possibly, or maybe they want them to do something for them as well.—

Garcia didn't know enough sign yet to make out the particulars of Kyle's response, but she got enough of it to get the point. _What could they possibly want the team to do for them?_ she asked herself. _Chase is kind of easy—there's so much she's capable of learning or finding out…but what would these people need a bunch of profilers for?_

Garcia settled back in her chair as Kyle began shuffling a deck of cards—the small object that had been tossed at him earlier. All this wonder and conjecture was giving her a headache, and there was no way to find anything out…at least, none Garcia could see at present.

* * *

In a dark room, large plasma screens glowed brightly as images flickered on each one. Each showed people going about their morning—eating breakfast, reading, possibly still sleeping, or carrying on a conversation. One screen showed two people even playing a hand of cards.

A man stood in front of these image screens, carefully studying each subject in them. He smiled as he thought of the roles each of the people in the screens had to play in order for the current undertaking to be a success.

Another man joined him, staring at the last screen. "Those two new people are going to be a challenge, sir," he said. "Especially the young man…I think they both are going to be more trouble than we thought."

"Perhaps," the first man replied, a contented expression on his face. "But it must be this way. We need their skills to put the whole thing in motion."

"And the other part?"

"Let's say that will be taken care of shortly." With that, the first man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.


	5. Government Connections?

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

"Yes. Yes. Okay. I understand."

The phone silenced itself with an audible _click._ The young man folded it closed and put it back into his pocket.

Nervously, he drummed his fingers against the top of his desk, staring blankly into a computer screen. Tapping a few keys, he was able to access the main security system for the entire building. A few more keystrokes, and he found what it was he was looking for—a four-panel split screen showing one of a thousand bullpens and offices. In the lower right of the screen, images of a group of people huddled over a bank of computers flickered.

_That's them,_ he thought, swallowing hard. He knew these folks would see through him the second he stepped off the elevator—there were stories about how they seemed to be able to 'read people's minds'—but there was nothing for it. Staring hard at a photograph on his desk, the young man tried to strengthen his resolve. The photograph was of himself, standing with a young lady who was about eighteen or twenty. Both were smiling, their thoughts carefree as they'd stood near the Chesapeake.

_I'm sorry,_ he thought, more for those in the images than himself. He wanted nothing to do with the whole affair.

Slowly, the young man stepped into the elevator, pushing the button to head four floors down.

* * *

"What kind of warning?" Morgan demanded.

Holding her hands up in an attempt to settle the irate agent, Chase began to explain. "We know whoever has our people is not afraid to use blackmail, Morgan. In my experience, there's two kinds of blackmail…"

"So someone wants us to do something?" the agent snapped.

"Or, someone wants us out of the way." Chase shook her head. "It really is brilliant, though…"

Emily concurred. "If you want to control a group, take out its lynchpin."

"Precisely."

"But we'd do that for any one of us here," JJ countered. "Look at all the times we've gone to bat for each other…"

"I know," Chase said, the look on her face indicating that she did indeed. "It's especially effective when there's a lot of history between the target and the victim. Kyle and me, for example."

Reid stood quietly next to the wall. He knew from countless euchre hands in the Stackhouse that Kyle and Chase's relationship was unlike any he—or anyone he knew, for that matter—had ever encountered. He looked on at the images staring at him from Garcia's computers, and hit upon an idea.

"What if that's the case with all these people?"

"Huh?"

"Kevin, can you print out a listing of…of information on all these people?" Reid asked, waving a hand at the portraits on the screen.

"Okay…" Within seconds a sheaf of paper spat out of the printer, holding nearly a textbook's worth of information on it. The rest of the team looked on as Reid scanned the information in mere seconds.

"Yeah…yeah…look here," Reid said, darting from Garcia's office and racing to the conference room at tope speed. It took a few minutes for even Morgan, not slow by any means, to catch up to him.

"What is it?" Rossi called out, hoping at least for some sort of answer. By the time the older man reached the conference room, Reid had spread out the printouts over the entire table, pointing excitedly at several of them.

"It's like we thought," Reid said his fingers tapping one printout after another. "The engineer, his father still does work occasionally for the government—not like he used to, he's semi-retired, but enough so that he'd have a high government clearance. And-and Charles, that diplomat, he's kind of semi-retired too—his son has an appointment lined up, it looks like—but again, enough to have government clearance."

"That still doesn't explain the others," Rossi reminded him gently.

"No, he's right," Chase said, having had a chance to look over the information for herself. "The chemist has clearance too—looks like she works for Dow, or one of its subsidiaries. Seems her work is nothing but government work—again, weapons and the like."

"So what's her connection?" Morgan asked, now a bit confused.

"Her brother," she said. "Her brother works over at Andrews, it seems. Lower-level, but enough to gain access to the airstrip."

"And the planes on it," Rossi finished.

"Yep."

"The mechanic specializes in working on aircraft," Emily continued, poring over a file.

"Okay. What's his connection?"

"Ahh…doesn't say…"

"And that girl, the student from Georgetown?"

"Mmm…dunno."

"So let's find out," Morgan said plainly. "Cause if there's a connection between those missing and the government, we should figure out what theirs are. I'll go see what I can find out about this mechanic," he added, walking over towards the door.

"Wait for me!" Emily called out, racing to catch up. As she hurried through the door, she knocked squarely into someone, nearly bowling them over.

"Sorry!" she said, still racing to catch up to Morgan.

"Well, Reid, shall we go see about that poor girl?" Chase said, looking up at her friend. "Thankfully, we won't have to go very far. Seems she's got a brother in the building—just four floors up."

"Counterterrorism?" Reid asked, his eyes blinking a bit.

"Yep. Come on." Chase started towards the conference room door before a sound stopped her.

"And what are _we_ supposed to do?" JJ cried, feeling a little left out.

"You're asking _me_?" Chase replied, a little surprised.

"It's your show, it seems," Rossi said.

A surprised and slightly uncomfortable look crossed Chase's face. She hadn't meant to come in and walk all over these people, but she knew they'd certainly want to be involved. "O-kay," she said slowly. Scanning the bullpen, she was keeping her eyes peeled for the one person who hadn't shown up yet. "JJ, why don't you see what's keeping Hotch?" Chase asked. "I mean, it's pouring, sure, but it's been nearly three hours…"

"No way it takes Hotch _this_ long—not even in hurricane conditions," Rossi chuckled, though without mirth.

"Dave, why don't you keep our friend in Garcia's office company for the time being? I get the feeling he needs someone looking over his shoulder when he's working or else nothing gets done…" A small ghost of a smile crossed Chase's face.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Hey, I like the guy. Obviously Garcia likes him too. But that doesn't mean he's not a bit of a slacker…"

"I heard that!" a voice called out from behind the steel door.

"But we now know he has supersonic hearing," Chase joked. "Come on, Reid, let's go."

The two made their way towards the elevator, and waited impatiently as the machine slowly made its way back up form the ground floor.

"Machines—gotta love them," Chase mused. "Always there when you don't need them, and they make you wait when you do."

Reid just smiled. He'd almost forgotten how interesting it was to work with the freelance operative.

"You think they're okay?" he asked softly.

"Who? Kyle and Garcia?"

Reid nodded.

"They'd better be. I truly pity the person who tries to harm either one, if Morgan is any indication."

Reid smiled, fixing his eyes on the elevator door. _Any minute now,_ he thought…

Finally, the doors opened, and the two stepped inside, pressing the button for their destination. A young agent raced inside, nearly breathless, just before the doors closed.

Chase tapped the button next to her. "This your floor?" she asked, indicating the button she'd already pressed.

"Yeah," the young man said, panting.

A few minutes passed as the elevator car took its time getting to each floor. "Slower than molasses in January," Chase mused.

"You guys from the BAU?" the young agent asked.

Chase tipped her hand towards Reid, who was focused on the moving numbers telling them what floor they were on. "He is."

"You, miss?"

"Why?"

"I'm really sorry about this…"

That line snapped Reid out of his reverie. "About what?"

Reid's eyes connected with the loaded service pistol aimed straight at both him and Chase. "I—I don't want to do this…"

"Then why?"

"They'll kill her if I don't."


	6. The Situation in the Elevator

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Heaving huge breaths, the young agent held his targets at bay within the confines of the elevator.

"Think about this," the young woman said, reaching for her own weapon. "Less than a minute after we get off this ride, the place will be swarming. How are you going to help 'her' then?"

The pistol jerked upward. "No," he said, an odd little sort of bark. "Put it down, on the ground. Both of you." When neither of his subjects moved, he added, "Now!"

The tall man slowly did as he was told. His companion hesitated, as if she knew the idea was a mistake. "Nothing good comes of this," she said.

"Are you Chase Davis?" he asked, the barrel pointing slightly more towards her direction.

The woman said nothing.

He pressed the button for the ground floor, making sure to kick the spare weapons behind him. "Are you Chase Davis?" he repeated, cutting off each word as a separate entity.

"Why?" the tall man asked. "What does Chase Davis have to do with this?"

"I don't know. Just that I have to deliver her, and anyone with her. They want her for something—I don't know, and I don't care." His voice wavered as he spoke.

"Yes," the young woman replied. "I'm Chase. Now, may I ask a question?"

"What?" The elevator slowly sank down towards the basement.

"Who are they going to kill?"

"What?"

"You said 'they' were going to kill 'her'," the tall man replied. "Well, who are 'they,' and who is 'she'?" Both he and Chase Davis were now standing with their backs against the far side of the elevator car, their hands held in front of them.

"Who are you? BAU, right?"

The tall man nodded. "That's right."

"Mind readers, they say. The lot of you."

"It-it's not true. I can't read your mind any more than you can read mine. But what you're doing, what you're saying, even the tiny movements you're making—they all tell me something."

A thin trickle of sweat streamed down his face as he studied the profiler. "You can't possibly…"

"You see how your hand is shaking, the one you're using to hold your gun? That tells me you really don't want to be doing this," the tall man began. "You're sweating, your eyes keep shifting behind you, like you think someone's watching every move you make. You've already said that 'they'll kill her', which means that what you're doing, right now, you've been coerced to do. My guess is, whoever 'she' is, she's very close to you, and you'd even do something that would ruin you in order to keep 'her' safe. Even kidnapping and murder."

The young man's resolve was beginning to falter. "Son of a bitch," he said. "You're not too far off."

"Okay," Chase Davis said, her voice gentle. "I think you and I have a lot in common right now, eh? Mind if I give it a try?"

The floor numbers continued their descent. "Sure," he said, trying to muster the courage to continue with his 'task.'

"Right now, I think you got a serious jolt to your system when you woke up one morning. I think someone contacted you—how, I'm not sure yet—and told you that your…girlfriend? Sister?"

"My sister," he confirmed.

"Okay, sister—she's not where she supposed to be. Someone's got her."

A sharp nod, and another slight waver of the pistol. "Go on."

"You've spent a lot of time, probably the last few days or so, wondering about what's happened to her—is she okay, is she hurt, things like that."

Another nod.

"Then, sometime today, you were contacted again—this time by the mysterious 'they.' They told you to come looking for me, apparently, and poor Dr. Reid here just happened to have a run of bad luck. Am I close?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Because at three this morning, I got a phone call just like that," Chase Davis said. "Only instead of your sister, these people took my partner. And, just like you, there isn't much I wouldn't do to get him back in one piece. But this? This is not the answer."

"They took one of my teammates too," Dr. Reid added. "So, you see, we've all got the same problem…"

"Not like Sarah. They…they said if I didn't bring you, Miss Davis, over to this place in two hours, they'd kill her—right in front of me…"

The tall doctor's eyes kept nervously looking at the pistol that twitched in front of him. "Why don't you put the gun down?" he suggested gently. "We'll go with you, with no resistance."

"Let us help you," Chase Davis said. "We've got as much to lose in this as you do…"

The elevator hit the ground floor with a cheerful _ding_. The sliding doors eased their way open, and the car's reluctant passengers each gave each other the once-over.

"Go. In front of me, and no tricks. I-I don't want to shoot you, but…"

Carefully, his prisoners walked in front of him, calmer but not willing to set the agitated young man off.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Chase Davis asked.

"What?"

"You have a name?"

"What?!"

"Well, you have me at a loss," the young woman said evenly. "You know my name, but…"

A few steps. Silence crushed over the three like an avalanche.

"Oliver. Oliver Lawrence."

The woman tipped her head once, as if she had known that bit of information and had simply been confirming it. A few minutes later they were directed towards a large conversion van, and both Chase Davis and the doctor allowed themselves to be bound and seated inside of it. Oliver then fired the engine and pulled out of the lot towards his eventual destination. Beside him, Chase Davis stared out the window, looking as if she were working the particulars of a plan.


	7. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

The house was like any other on the street—single story, aluminum siding, wide front porch. Morgan took the seven steps to the top of the staircase as if he were riding an escalator.

There had been too many odd coincidences that had happened that morning, and none of them the seasoned profiler liked. Aside from the unsettling fact that his best friend was suddenly missing, the fact that all the other people Chase had found missing had had something to do with the government in one way or another continued to bother him.

"Why not just go after the people themselves?" he asked his friend and colleague, who stayed close. "Why kidnap all these 'other' people if it's the government connection they want?"

"I've been wondering the same thing," Emily concurred. "I mean, we both know Garcia's the best at what she does, but then there's that girl from Georgetown we saw on that list…what could she possibly have to do with the government?"

Morgan shook his head. "I'm hoping the others back at the BAU are finding out about that." Reaching his hand out, he leveled a sharp knock on the door, half-expecting it to go unanswered. Aside from the torrential downpour, it was already eleven-thirty in the morning—well past the time most people had to go to work.

The door lock snapped, and the wooden barrier creaked open. "Yes?" a thin voice said, heavily accented. It was a woman.

"Ma'am, is this the residence of Jason Hennessey?"

"Yes, but Mr. Jason, he not been here long time. Working, I think. Mr. Steven, he leave for work this morning."

"Well, where does he work?"

"Mr. Steven? He fly planes."

Showing their credentials, Emily asked, "Do you know when he might be back?"

"Late, I think. It's Wednesday. Always clean whole house on Wednesday, when both home late."

"May we come in?" Emily queried.

"Come back later." The woman's voice was kind, but firm. "I tell Mr. Steven you were here."

"Uh, one more question," Morgan asked. "Do you happen to know Mr. Steven's last name?"

The woman tapped on the door frame, as if trying to remember. "S-straw…no…Shaw. That's it. Shaw."

"Okay. Thanks."

Taking Emily's card, the woman replied, "I tell him you come."

Turning to make the trek through the pelting rain, Morgan dialed a familiar number. The voice on the other end, though, wasn't one he was used to hearing.

"Kevin Lynch," the voice said.

"Hey, Kevin, I need you to look up anything you can on a Jason Hennessey or a Steven Shaw, address is…" Morgan looked up at the house and rattled off the number and street. "I think Shaw is a pilot of some kind, and we know Hennessey is a mechanic, so…"

"Call back in a few minutes." The line went dead.

As they settled back into the SUV for the drive back, Emily began to wonder. "Doesn't it seem odd to you that these people seem to want those who have connections to airports? First the chemist's brother, then Shaw's a pilot—what's the betting that Hennessey's an airline mechanic?"

"Yeah." Resisting the urge to slam his fist into the steering wheel, he said, "But it gets us no closer to finding Garcia."

"Well, if I know Chase, she's probably found something by now. Whether you know it or not, Kyle's as important to her as Garcia is to us—especially you," Emily said, giving Morgan a sympathetic but firm look.

"I know, I know. I just keep thinking about that time she was being targeted by that asshole," Morgan replied, shaking his head. "This time I can't even go and make sure everything's all right—we have _no_ idea where she might be, or _how_ she might be…"

"And neither do the rest of these people. I keep hoping that Kyle and Garcia are together, in any case, and that they're looking out for each other." Emily pulled out her phone and dialed a number. After letting it go to voice mail, she remarked, "She's not picking up. Maybe they've found something?"

"I hope so," Morgan said as he turned left onto the two lane highway.

* * *

The torrential rain made it hard to see past a few feet of the windshield. Chase stared out the window, hoping she could get a better view of where it was this Oliver was taking both her and Reid.

"Oliver, let us help you," she heard Reid saying, trying to convince the young agent not to go through with his 'order.' "I-I know your sister's important to you, but so are our friends…"

"You don't understand. Sarah's all I have. She's my little sister, and I promised I'd look after her. And what happens? Huh?"

"Oliver, you'll hate yourself if you leave us to die. Will it be worth it? Sending two people off to slaughter for the life of your sister?"

Chase could see the nerves and anxiety building within the driver's frame. "Look," she said, "normally I'd expect you're pretty collected under this kind of pressure—you don't make counterterrorism at twenty-nine without something of the sort…"

"How'd you know I was twenty-nine?"

"Trade secret."

The van stopped for a red light, and Oliver's eyes bored into Chase's skull. "How did you know?" he repeated, more forcefully this time.

"It's what I do. What _we_ do—my partner and I. We find things out—things people couldn't know, things people _shouldn't _know."

"Spook," he said bitterly.

"Hardly. CIA's tried recruiting me for years, but I don't like lying through my teeth with every breath. We do domestic investigating—works better for us and our day jobs, Kyle and me."

"Kyle—he's your partner?"

Chase closed her eyes. The image of Kyle being hurt or tortured kept swimming to the top of her thoughts. "More than that," she said. "I don't expect you to understand, Oliver. I don't expect anyone to understand…"

"I think I do," Reid said softly from the back. "Literally, he's all you've got."

"When you don't have family, you make one. I think you _do_ understand."

Behind her, a ghost of a smile played across Reid's lips. "Oliver, don't do this," he pleaded again, his voice soft.

The van pulled over to the side of the road. As the rain drummed incessantly on the roof of the vehicle, Oliver stared at the steering wheel inside. A steady stream of tears washed over his face, though no hint of a cry escaped his lips.

"They'll kill her. I got that feeling the minute they told me she was 'staying with them'—they were going to kill her. They said she had to 'do' something for them, and that if I wanted her back, I'd have to do whatever they asked. They said the whole thing wouldn't take very long, and they'd let her go…"

"You didn't believe them," Reid said.

"No. I-I can't really explain it, but, I just _knew_."

"And yet there's that part of you that wanted to believe them, _had_ to believe them—for Sarah's sake, if not your own."

"Don't you?"

"No. I don't believe them either. I think when all's said and done they'll eliminate the lot of us—and Oliver, there's a _lot._" Heaving a deep breath, Chase continued. "What if I told you that, besides your sister and our friends, four other people are going through the same predicament right now?"

Oliver gaped. "Four?"

"Yeah. There's four other people who's had their loved ones snatched up in the middle of the night. Four other people who are being forced to make the same choices you're making to save Sarah."

The three sat in a long silence as Oliver contemplated this new information. Suddenly a phone began to ring, belting out a few lines of the song "Drive."

"You hear that? That's likely one of his teammates, a colleague of mine, calling with information," Chase said, letting her phone ring—as her hands were bound behind her, answering it was simply out of the question. "There's six other people out there looking for us…"

"Looking for us, and your sister, and our friends, and all those other people who went missing," Reid added.

A fist collided with the steering wheel. "I can't do this," Oliver said finally. "I can't just leave you to them, but I can't _not_ do it either…"

Thinking fast, Chase sprang upon an idea. "What if there's a compromise? A way you can do both?"

"Really? How's that, genius?"

Chase heaved another deep breath. "You take me in, like you're supposed to, but leave the doctor out of it. Let him go back to the office and help figure out what's going on."

"They said I had to bring anyone with you…"

"And how much security is in an elevator car? Really? You think you work for the NSA?"

"They know things, Miss Davis…"

"Chase."

"…things I thought _no one_ knew, or could know."

"You're gonna find that that's never true. Someone always knows."

Oliver looked back at Reid, who merely sat where he was. "You can really help get my sister back?"

"We'll do everything we can, and then some. This is a family affair for us, too."

Oliver stared into the steering wheel again, as if making up his mind. "Okay," he said, firing the engine again. "We have to hurry—there's only about forty-five minutes left…"

Chase settled into the seat again. _I hope Kyle and Garcia are having better luck at this than we are,_ she thought. _Most of all, I sincerely hope that they're okay—for everyone's sake…_

* * *

After about five hands of abbreviated euchre, the sight of what Kyle began calling an "attendant" came into view, motioning to both Garcia and himself. There were two other men that followed the 'attendant' in, holding black lengths of cloth in their hands.

What bothered Kyle most was that aside from the first man they'd met, none of the 'attendants' spoke sign. He'd have to concentrate on reading their lips, and considering the awful urge his system had to just fall back to sleep, it made concentrating on lip reading impossible at times. Garcia paid better attention, and tried to sign things as best she could. Later, he decided, he would start teaching her more signs than what she knew, which consisted of the bare basics, euchre signs, and the occasional telling look.

Kyle tried to get all of what was being said in front of him, and saw that Garcia's face took on a worried look. "What's wrong?" he said, knowing full well his voice was getting fuzzier with his increased tiredness.

Garcia pointed towards the men, then pointed at the black cloths, then pointed at her eyes. Kyle understood immediately, backing away from the group slowly.

"Please, don't," he cried out, staring in horror at the black cloth.

The 'attendant' stared out at him, saying something Kyle couldn't make out.

"I can't hear you—I'm deaf," Kyle said, still backing away a step at a time. "Please, don't ask me to give up my sight too…"

Garcia took hold of Kyle's arm, startling him. She pointed at herself, then at him, all the while holding onto his arm. Kyle struggled to pay attention to her lips as she said "It's the only way to find out what's outside this room."

Kyle thought about all the times he and Chase had gotten into one mess or another. Never before had he had to go blindfolded; Chase usually did most of the 'field work,' leaving Kyle free to work on the information they got over wires or the computer. He sincerely regretted now not having taken more of an active role outside the office, and knew that once he got out of this place—if he ever _did_ leave it—he would be working more in the field.

Garcia grasped his arm again. The look on her face was plain: _we don't have any choice._

Standing perfectly still, both he and Garcia allowed themselves to be blindfolded, though Kyle allowed it unwillingly. Panic rose through him as his world suddenly plunged into black.

Kyle resisted the urge to run as he felt hands rest upon his shoulders, gently but firmly guiding him through a silent, black world in which he had no directions. There were several twists and turns, and after a time he felt Garcia's hand leave his arm. He froze, not wanting to go on through this nightmarish horror without a friend close by.

The hands pushed him forward, again firm but gentle. Suddenly the hands stopped him and removed the blindfold. In front of him sat two oversized bathtubs, both filled with steaming warm water. A man sat inside one of them, curious. Kyle guessed he couldn't be more than six or seven years older than himself.

The hands that guided him here pointed towards the right bathtub; Kyle could see there was a bar of soap, an oversized towel, and other bath articles lying nearby. A gust of wind blew over him, and Kyle turned to see the door being shut—probably locked.

He turned towards the man sitting in the bathtub, who, out of respect, had turned his head. Kyle used these few minutes to undress and slip beneath the inviting water.

--"It's okay,"-- he said, signing as he spoke. Perhaps this person knew sign language, and he might get a better idea of what was going on.

The man looked at him, then tapped his ears while pointing at Kyle.

--"Yes, I'm deaf,"—Kyle said. –"Can you hear me?"—

The man nodded.

--"Do you know sign?"—

The man shook his head.

"What's going on here?"

The man's face paused, as if trying to think of how to say something. "I can read lips," Kyle said, trying to assure him he'd be understood.

The man turned away, focusing on his own bath. Kyle pulled the warm washcloth to his face, letting the hot water whisk away the tired feeling that enveloped him. With each application of the water to his face, the feeling lessened, making him more alert and focused.

After about fifteen minutes, Kyle caught a hand waving at him—it belonged to the man in the other tub. "Yes?" he called out, hoping he was able to be heard.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long," Kyle said. "My friend and I have been here since last night. You?"

"A month."

Kyle's eyes widened at that. "Why are you here?"

"They want me to fix a special plane for them. I'm a mechanic."

"What's your name? I'm Kyle."

"Jason. Why are you here?"

"They want my friend and I to hack into something. We're technical analysts—two of the best."

"At least you have your friend with you. I've been isolated for a month now, or at least what I _think_ is a month. What day was it last?"

Kyle told him.

The man shook his head. "It's been longer than I thought. Six weeks."

_What the hell is going on here? _Kyle thought as he settled into the bath, privately thinking that if this was to be his one chance to clean up, it might as well be worth it. _Planes and hacking and kidnapping and who-knows-what else? Chasie, what have we gotten ourselves into this time?_


	8. The Knot Begins to Unravel

**Please see disclaimers in CH 1.**

* * *

With the pouring rain and the long silences, the drive seemed to take forever. Reid wondered if they would ever reach their 'destination' at this rate.

In front of him, both Chase and Oliver sat silently, both as determined to see their part of the plan through as possible. To look at them, one would think there was absolutely nothing wrong; another look into their eyes, however, belied the anxiety of what would come next.

Finally the van turned off into a remote part off a two-lane highway. The little outbuilding was barely more than a shelter that reminded the young doctor of a covered bench as a bus stop. Chase's eyes connected with something outside the vehicle—something the windowless back of the van didn't allow him to see as well.

"Get down," Oliver said, shoving Reid onto the floor. Once he lay down, the older agent tossed a few articles overtop his tall frame, making him look like part of the interior. _Hopefully whoever's outside won't search the van,_ Reid thought. _Maybe they'll just take Chase and go…_

"Let's do this," he could hear Chase say, then the click of a door latch and steps crunching on gravel or sandy ground. The steps grew fainter as the pair walked out of earshot.

Several minutes passed, and each one filled Reid with more dread. He hoped things were going according to plan, and that these mysterious people didn't decide to search the van after all—or worse, decide they needed Oliver as well as Chase. Without Oliver, there would be no connection to the people who seemed to decide taking people from their beds was a perfectly acceptable form of recruitment.

After what seemed like ages, Reid heard the sound of footsteps again. These were quick, and wasted no time in covering the distance on the scratchy ground to get back to the driver's seat. The sound of an engine turning over roared in the distance, and the squealing _crunch _and _scrape_ of tire against gravel or sand was enough to make Reid wish _he_ had gone deaf himself.

Above him, Reid could hear a measured breathing, and the sound of Oliver counting something off—seconds, maybe, or even breaths.

"Are they gone?" the younger agent whispered, mindful that someone could still be watching.

"Stay there," Oliver barked. He finished his count. "Okay," he said finally. "They're gone."

Reid shook the blankets and cardboard and other debris off of his thin frame and moved towards the seat Chase had occupied. "No," Oliver said, stopping him. "Stay in the back—that way if there's scouts down the road, they won't know I kept you here."

Reid complied, and returned to his seat in the back. A sound startled him—it was his cell phone, ringing at high volume. He reached for it, checking the caller ID display first.

"Agent Rossi?" he asked.

"Reid, where the hell have you gone to? How long does it take to find a guy on the fourteenth floor?"

"Well, sir, that-that's a good question…"

* * *

"I bet it is," Rossi said, his voice belying the gruff exterior he usually showed in these sorts of situations. He knew he oftentimes came off as being an uncaring sort when it could be further from the truth—he simply blamed it on a combination of still getting used to this 'collective working' concept and his own independent personality. "We've got people going missing by the hour, it seems, and we can't afford to lose any more…"

Over the phone, Reid pled his case. "There's been a development—one I have to show you rather than tell…" The voice quieted as Rossi could make out a conversation taking place. "We'll be back in about an hour an a half…"

"And tell Chase she was right—everyone on that list has both government connections _and_ a lot of ties to airplanes and the like."

"Uh…um…okay, I will…" Reid's phone then hung up.

Shaking his head, Rossi sat down in one of the chairs he'd liberated from the bullpen. Inches away, Kevin Lynch continued pulling up files on various people, discovering more connections between the missing persons on Chase's list and their relatives and loved ones.

"What the hell have we gotten into?" Rossi asked, more rhetorically than anything else.

"Beats me," said Kevin. "All I had to do was wake up this morning…" the analyst stopped in mid-sentence, as if he'd just hit upon something important.

"What?"

"That's what's been bugging me, sir. Penelope and I were _both_ asleep, not inches from each other, and yet these people managed to snatch her in the middle of the night and I never noticed a _thing_." Kevin rubbed his eyes again, trying desperately to rid them of the persistent cloud that hung over them. "Why can't I seem to wake _up_ this morning?!"

"You feel like this a lot? Tired, not able to focus?"

"Well, my eyes give me trouble in the spring—allergies," he confessed. "But with the amount of rain we've been getting here lately, that hasn't been a problem. Besides, it's going on two o'clock—by now I'm through my fifth cup of coffee and wide awake as ever."

"And today?"

"Seven coffees, black espresso, and a gallon of Coke, and I'm…" A giant yawn escaped. "…still yawning. I _know _it's not because of lack of sleep or something like that…"

"Rossi, Kevin, any luck?" Morgan's voice floated into Garcia's office as the source hurried in.

"Jason Hennessey is definitely an airline mechanic—he works for a company just outside of DC specializing in small aircraft. The company also takes on contract work sometimes for the military—when there's not enough hands, that kind of thing."

"And Shaw?"

Kevin brought up the file on the screen. "Steven Shaw is a pilot—cleared to fly just about anything, really. Spent eight years in the Air Force, managed to work up to flying stealth and fighter jets of all classes, and took an honorable discharge to work as an airline pilot. Oh, and _before_ you ask, he and Hennessey have been, ah…"

Everyone in the room looked at each other for a long moment. "Domestic partners?" Morgan ventured.

"Yeah, that. Looks like about…nine years now." Kevin looked a little sheepish. "I never can remember what the term is for that."

"Hmm." Rossi began looking at the last file. "Reid and Chase left nearly three hours ago to question a guy on the fourth floor about this Sarah Lawrence, and they're _still_ not back yet."

"Any word on Hotch?"

"JJ's been calling every ten minutes since you left, and not just the usual numbers," Rossi confirmed. "By now I'm pretty sure Haley's filling out restraining orders on the lot of us for calling so much."

"First Garcia, then Kyle, and now _Hotch?_ I mean, what's the connection?"

"Well, there was that case a few months back…"

"And most of us spent more time with Chase than Kyle—no offense."

"Somehow I don't think they'd mind at this point."

"Still…"

Behind them, Kevin began pulling up files of a different sort. "Huh," he said, looking on at four very familiar faces on his screen.

"Huh, what?" Morgan said, his voice rising.

"It's just…well…"

"Kevin, spit it out."

"Ah…"

Just then Rossi let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Reid, where the hell have you been?!" he called out, not caring that nearly half the bullpen could hear him. The sight of the team's youngest was a sight for sore eyes, and Rossi noticed that another man followed closely behind him. "Where's Chase?" he asked.

"It's…complicated. This is Oliver Lawrence," Reid added hastily. "He's going to help us find Garcia and Kyle, and everyone else."

Morgan took several deliberate steps towards this Lawrence character. "What do you know about all this?" he demanded, his voice nearly a bark.

"I…um…oh, God," Oliver said, trying to regain his confidence. "Look, let me sit down, and I'll answer anything you want. How much time have you got?"

"As much as it takes to get to the bottom of this," Morgan said flatly, leading Oliver to the conference room. "Start at the beginning…"

As the two walked out of earshot, Reid asked, "Did we find Hotch?"

"Not yet. JJ's been tracking him down, though." He paused a moment. "Okay, Reid, tell me—where's Chase?"

"She, ah…she went with them," Reid replied.

"What?!"

Reid hastily explained the events in the elevator, and the plan they'd come to in the van. "It was her choice," he said, hoping Rossi could understand.

Rossi shook his head. "I sincerely hope she knows what she's doing…"

An understanding smile crossed Reid's face. "I have a feeling she knows more about what she does than anyone else does themselves."

"Ah, sir?" a voice said, floating through the conversation.

"What?"

"There's something here you should see…"

* * *

The trip to this place had been long and dark. From the moment she'd been transferred to the waiting vehicle at the rendezvous point, her world had been covered in black. The twists and turns in the drive had made it impossible to count out the path the vehicle had taken, and by the time she was seated in the large concrete room, she had no way of knowing where on earth she was.

Chase settled into one of the padded chairs, resigning herself to wait for whatever came next. At least she was _inside_ the operation—now, all she had to do was hope an opportunity presented itself.

As she sat, Chase scanned the room. There were certainly cameras trained on her, and perhaps even a bug or two. Wherever they were, however, they were well hidden, and she did not want to upset the balance of things just yet by actively searching for them. Just knowing they were there was enough.

Suddenly a door creaked. "Hello?" she called out.

"Ah. Miss Davis. _Such_ a pleasure to meet you," a voice crooned. It was one that seemed to pride itself on being 'civilized' and perhaps even 'cultured.'

"Hmm."

"I must say, when I learned you were coming in, I was most pleased. Your particular 'talents' will suit quite nicely…"

"Well," Chase said, determined to play the man's game for a bit, "I have to say, this is a first for me. Usually people just send an email or call when they want to hire me."

"As you can see, we run things a bit…differently here."

"I noticed." Scanning the room with an appraising eye, she continued. "Nice place. It's the concrete, isn't it? You've done something different with it…"

"Miss Davis."

"Sorry. Reflex. Can't turn it off sometimes," Chase said by way of an apology. "You were looking to hire me?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Well, usually I meet with the prospective client, we talk terms, usually in my office or over dinner." She tipped her head toward her hands, which were still bound behind her. "Again, this is a first."

"Your reputation precedes you."

"I'm sure it does."

Heaving a deep breath, Chase stood perfectly still, her face growing more than serious. "Then you most likely know I don't work alone."

"We do."

"Anything you tell me will be told to my partner…"

"Not in this instance."

Chase shook her head. "Then there's no deal," she said, her voice firm.

As if on cue, several shiny objects came into view—one for each of the three men that had accompanied her interrogator. "Of course, I can't seem to find him at the moment, so perhaps exceptions could be made…"

"He's perfectly fine, Miss Davis."

"Really?" The sarcasm in her voice was slight but obvious.

"Perhaps you would like to speak with him?"

"I would."

"That can be arranged. Until then, I would like to show you to your room. If you please?" The man extended his arm towards the door, as if to usher her out.

Before Chase crossed the threshold, her eyes were bound once more, and the calming presence of the dark enveloped her. She could hear footsteps, quick and light, surrounding her every move. Like before, there were several twists and turns as she was led through a labyrinthine sort of lair. After what seemed like ages, the footsteps finally stopped, and a door _whooshed_ open, as if it were pneumatically sealed shut.

A few steps more, and then the _scrape_ of metal on tile. A pair of hands pushed her down gently into the chair, then removed her blindfold and her bonds.

"I must ask that you remain in that chair until we leave," the interrogator said. "Like I said, your reputation precedes you, Miss Davis…"

There was another _whoosh_, then silence. Chase counted five before standing up and looking around.

The room she had been placed in was blue—a pale, calming sort of blue. It was rather large, holding a small table, three chairs, a couple of lamps bolted to the floor, a night table (also bolted to the floor), and two full-size beds made of heavy steel and iron. These were dressed in blue linens, and what was lying on top of the nearest one made Chase's heart nearly stop. She ran over to the bed in question and began trying to rouse the figure sprawled carelessly on top of it.

"Agent Hotchner? Come on, now, wake up…"


	9. Waking Up

**Two for Tuesday, I guess. Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Come on, sir, wake up," a voice said, fading in and out as the room began to take shape. His eyes blinked furiously as they tried to push the persistent fog from them.

_What happened?_ Hotch thought. _Maybe I need to lay off the paperwork after hours…just for a day or two…_

"Agent Hotchner, wake up, come on, that's it," the voice said, followed by a pair of hands that was trying to lift his sizable frame to a sitting position. The hands left his side as soon as he was upright, and brought something cold near his face. "Here, drink this," the voice said. "Might clear out whatever's in your system…"

Without really looking at it, Hotch accepted the container and began drinking out of it. It was full of water—plain, cold, clear water—but the liquid was helping to brush the fog from behind his eyes. Blinking even more rapidly than before, those same eyes that had seen countless gruesome scenes half-expected to see something of the sort now. What awaited him, however, was most surprising.

The room was bare, save for a few pieces of furniture. Everything was painted or colored blue. He looked down and noticed he was still in his pajamas—a plain white shirt and a decent pair of sweatpants. In front of him a figure was sitting on the bed across from him, far enough away as to not startle him but close enough to catch him should something happen unexpectedly.

"Agent Hotchner?" the voice asked. "Are you with me?"

"Eh..what?" he replied, still trying to collect his thoughts.

"I'll give you a minute, then. Seems like they used a lot on you to put you out for that long…"

"Used…huh? A lot of…what now?" Hotch felt like he'd just walked into a briefing only to discover that he had missed nearly all of the important points.

"Sir? Do you remember me?" The voice seemed concerned.

Struggling to make eye contact, Hotch picked his head up and stared long and hard at the young woman before him. He knew for certain it wasn't Haley—this person was at least ten or twelve years younger than his ex-wife, certainly. He studied the short dark hair and the bright green eyes for a moment, certain he'd seen them somewhere before…

"Give me a minute," he said, his voice shaky and slurred a bit.

The young woman picked herself up and began pacing a slow walk around the room. "Take your time—it seems we have plenty of it here."

Hotch held his face in his hands, rubbing his temples as if they were on fire. Nothing could have been further from the truth, though—the thick fog that was making things a bit hazy seemed to generate from that point, and Hotch thought if he could just dislodge the fuzzy curtain that was making things hard to focus, he could get to the bottom of this.

_Was I drinking last night?_ he wondered. _If that's the case, I'm giving that up too…_

"No, Agent Hotchner, I'm fairly certain you weren't drinking last night," the voice said, as if she was reading his thoughts. "But you're probably going to feel like you have been for a while, at any rate. They must have given you enough of whatever they use here to knock out Patton's entire army."

Blinking his eyes slower now than before, Hotch decided to risk looking up. His eyes met with pale blue—it covered every inch of space in the room, form floor to ceiling. The young woman was the only thing out of place, with her mustard yellow shirt, black capris, and steel gray rubber shoes that acted like sandals.

"How're you feeling, sir?" she asked. Genuine concern was evident in her voice.

"Like I went home from a bender in London fog," he replied, allowing himself to crack a single joke to alleviate some of the tension he felt pressing over him. "How long have I been here?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was in the office until eleven, finishing up the paperwork…I drove home, unlocked the door, climbed the stairs and practically fell into bed. Next thing I know you're trying to wake me up."

"What day was it yesterday?"

A frown crossed Hotch's sober features. "What _day_?"

"It's a simple question, sir. And no, it's not a joke. What day was it yesterday?"

Hotch told her.

"Okay. You're on track with the rest of the world then," the voice confirmed. "They took you sometime during the middle of last night, I'd reckon. Seems to have been a popular night for them, really…"

"Hold on," Hotch said, holding a hand up. "Who's 'they'?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I've been looking into them since three o'clock this morning, when I got a very strange phone call…"

The voice fell silent as Hotch heard a strange _whooshing_ sound from a corner of the midsized room. Footsteps tapped quickly against the tile flooring, stopping near where the young woman was standing.

"If you'll come with me, Miss Davis," a new voice said, polite but firm. Hotch lifted his head up from the comforter he'd been staring at to vaguely make out two men standing on either side of the young woman, led by a third who ushered them out.

"What about him?" the young woman—Miss Davis, apparently—asked.

"He'll be seen to," the man assured the young woman. "Come, we can't keep them waiting…"

Falling silent, the young woman was led out of the room. Hotch realized that he'd been left alone in this strange place, and that he felt a pressing need to get out of it.

Walking towards where the men had taken 'Miss Davis' only moments before, he ran his hands over the walls hoping to find the door. There was nothing—not even a crack or a change in solidity in the wall.

_Now how on earth…_ he wondered, when suddenly the strange _whooshing_ sound assailed his ears again.

"Ah, ah, there's none of that, Agent Hotchner," a voice said. Hotch bristled at the tone at once—it was cultured, crooning, and held a patronizing note to it. "Rest assured, when it comes time for you to leave this room, we'll come for you."

"Where _is_ 'this room,' exactly? And who are you?" Hotch demanded, straining to clear his vision so he could make out the face before him.

"Merely someone who's taken an interest in you," the patronizing voice said. "Seems you're quite the talent as far as your profession is concerned…"

Hotch bit back a bitter chuckle. He was good, this was true, but he wouldn't get very far without the others on his team.

"But what impresses me most about you is that while you're very good at seeing a person for what they are, you also are an incredible shot and have a knack for knowing the logic behind what a person does," the patronizing voice continued. "Most impressive."

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment."

"Oh, by all means, do."

"What do you want?"

"Always to the point, aren't you, Agent Hotchner? Well, we—that is, my colleagues and I—would like you to help us in a little operation we've been planning out. Your role should take no more than a few days to complete, and then you may go back home—to your life outside, to the office, to your son…"

Hotch's face paled. "What have you done with my son?" he demanded.

"Nothing, nothing. He's perfectly fine, and still with his mother," the voice crooned. "However, there are some other people that might be forced to change that arrangement, should you not cooperate. Oh, and there's one other thing…"

The scowl on Hotch's chiseled features was enough to serve as evidence he was listening, even though he wanted badly to 'correct' this situation.

"A few people you've worked with before have been…shall we say, _recruited_ to the operation as well. One of them I'm sure you're quite familiar…a Miss Penelope Garcia?"

The color drained from Hotch's face, though his expression never weakened. "What about Garcia?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Oh, no worries—she's in perfect health, and is about somewhere cleaning herself up. However, her continued health and welfare now ties somewhat into your cooperation. Are we clear?"

A few seconds passed. Hotch was seething. He too recalled the egotistical narcissist that had tried to end Garcia's life, and he'd resented the threat to his friend and employee then—now, he only resented it more.

"I say, Agent Hotchner, _are we clear?_"

Slowly, Hotch nodded his head. If only his vision would improve from the persistent fog…

"Very well. In a few minutes I'll have something sent in. You must be starving—you've nearly slept the day away…" With that, the voice retreated back towards the corner, where the _whooshing _sound covered the mechanics of the door itself.

The rest was silence. Hotch used his hands to try and find a bathroom, or a sink, or even a bowl full of water with which to wash his face. Maybe the water would help move this fog from his system…


	10. Upstairs, Downstairs

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Kyle had barely gotten out of the bath when the door suddenly burst open. Three 'attendants' moved swiftly, making quick work of his hands and his sight, though Kyle was certain he could almost hear himself screaming as the black cloth was draped over his eyes. The loss of his sight, on top of his near-profound deafness, was a lifelong fear he had never been able to overcome.

There was motion near his front as a wet pair of hands began to grab at him and tried to pull back the repulsive shroud from his brilliant eyes, but the hands were shoved roughly from him by a pair that felt like fine-grit sandpaper. Something damp, soft, and solid fell at his feet, brushing around his ankles as if to grab them.

Kyle felt his lips forming words he was probably shrieking at this point, though his only reply was a solid slap to the face that stung harshly. Moments later, another cloth was wedged between his teeth so tightly he thought his jaw would dislocate. Shaking, the analyst tried to will himself to calm down and think about what he'd just learned—a trick Chase was forever drilling into him.

_These people are willing to use force, it seems, _he thought. _They didn't wait and ask me, like last time—they seized me at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps this means something unexpected has happened, like a rescue attempt…_

A pair of hands laid themselves gently against Kyle's shoulders, like before. As he took slow, careful steps through the long black space, Kyle continued analyzing his situation.

_So, now what? The 'higher management' seems to want to make the 'guests' feel comfortable, but they also use force when needed. Could be because of a sudden shift in events, or perhaps it's a way to reassert that control ultimately lies with them, and not us. Okay, I can buy that._

The hands turned him left, then right, then right again, then left three times, then spun him, then followed another long series of twists and turns.

_They don't seem to want me to know where I'm going…is the path they're choosing deliberate, so I can't count my steps or my way out or here, or is it because they're as lost as I am?_

Kyle tried to quicken his pace a bit, hoping the hands guiding him wouldn't notice as he gradually worked up to a run. Before he got more than two steps in front of his 'guide,' however, a hand from beside roughly grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back in front of the gentle hands.

_Someone—maybe all of them—don't want me getting too far ahead. Maybe they realize I might still be able to run away? Or is there something in front of me I can't—or __**shouldn't**__—know about?_

The gentle hands pulled him slowly to a stop. Someone stood in front of him, brushing against him as a cold shock of air blew over him. Kyle shivered, rattling his teeth against the cloth as he was gently pushed forward and then stopped again. Something struck the back of his legs a little, and the gentle hands pushed him into a sitting position.

For a long time—or, what _felt _like a long time, anyway—Kyle sat in that chair, staring out into the room swathed in a thick, endless black. He desperately wanted to speak, but his hands were still secure behind his back and his mouth was still full of thick cloth.

When it felt like Kyle could no longer sit still and cooperate, something cold worked its way between the cords that held his hands, and before long they were free. Immediately the young man reached up towards his face, desperate to remove the hateful blindfold.

_If I'm about to die, I want to see who's going to kill me, _he thought stubbornly. _I don't want this coward to get off that easy…_

What greeted his eyes the moment light struck them was enough to make him gasp in shock.

* * *

Chase was the picture of calm as she allowed herself to be led through the labyrinth of hallways that made up the 'facility' she was being kept in. She had always welcomed the dark, preferring it to the bright, hot afternoon sun. There was something about darkness that always put her at ease, and she allowed that to guide her thoughts.

_So, blindfolds,_ she thought._ Obviously someone has some security issues. Perhaps the blindfolds are a way to keep certain people disoriented? Or to prove that the people running this place are ultimately the ones in control? Who knows._

The soft sound of rubber connecting with something solid—_tile, perhaps,_ she thought—echoed off the walls that she knew were close by. Keeping her breathing in check, Chase began running through what she knew in her head.

_Whoever these people are, there's a lot of them, _she reasoned. _There'd have to be in order to snatch three people on the same night. And not just any people, either—two of them are well trained for such things, and the other one wasn't alone during her abduction._

There were several twists and turns, all of which were discerned by a pair of hands guiding her by the shoulders.

_There's a connection between the people who've been kidnapped and the people that are missing them, and not just the usual one—all of them have a pretty specific skill set that their 'captors' seem interested in for some reason._

"Watch your step, and lift your feet up when I tell you," a voice said behind her.

_The cordiality of these people is what's really throwing me, though. It's almost as if they want to 'convince' their captives that they're simply an unexpected 'guest' that will be well-taken care of. Problem with that, though, is that the 'guests' more than likely want to be able to leave the room when they please, and they can't…_

"Step."

Chase lifted her feet, using her toes to search for the top of the short rise.

"Step."

Again, using her toes as a guide, she managed to reach the level portion.

"Step."

The process continued thirteen more times. Chase began to shiver. Darkness she could handle, along with snakes, spiders, close quarters, water, fire, and weapons of all sorts. Every time her feet began searching for the top of another step, however, a part of her wondered worriedly if the final destination wasn't a long drop and a sudden stop.

Finally there was a slight push on her shoulders, motioning her to go forward. Chase's feet inched slightly, still afraid of not finding solid flooring or ground under her feet at some point.

"Ah, Miss Davis," a voice said. It was a cultured voice, one that held a tone to it Chase didn't like. "I see you've finally joined us."

"Oh, it's you," she said. "I remember you from the concrete room."

"I trust you found your accommodations to your liking?"

Chase felt a sarcastic smile grow across her face. "I even like the color," she said.

"Good, good—very good."

"Um, I hate to be brusque, but could we do without the blindfold? I mean, I _have _seen you before…"

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm certain you will want to see this…"

The black cloth fell from her eyes, though her hands were still bound from when she had been 'escorted' from Hotch's room. She saw that she was standing on a large balcony, looking over a wide marble room. The balcony was lined with a metal guardrail, making a drop off from the platform difficult at best.

What caught her immediate attention, however, was the sight of a figure that was sitting in a chair—bound, blindfolded, and flanked by guards. The mop of sand-colored hair, cut longish over the ears, covered a black cloth that hid a pair of brilliant blue eyes.

Chase's breath vanished from her lungs, and she nearly forgot to fill them with more for several seconds.

"What have you done to him?!" Chase said sharply, her voice raised.

"As you can see, he's perfectly fine, Miss Davis. For now."

"Fine?! Are you kidding?!" Chase knew the figure beneath her was by now terrified beyond belief, if not worse. Struggling to keep herself calm and in check, she said, "Please, let him see. What can it hurt?"

The man looked at her a moment, studying every inch of her face. "What does it matter to you? He's no relation, no concern…"

"You know damn well he is," Chase snapped.

An appraising eye floated over the features in her face. "It seems we weren't far off the mark. Very well." The man flicked his hands towards the guard below, and a knife slid behind the figure's back, freeing his hands. Instantly those hands pulled the black cloth from the figure's eyes.

The wide, long, disbelieving stare she witnessed was enough to break her heart. Giving a look of her own, she tried to put on a face she knew he'd recognize—the one that said _It's okay—we'll get out of this one. _

Another look followed it. _Just as soon as we get to the bottom of this…_

Below her, the face of Kyle Parker took in the silent message, and nodded once. His only question now was, _now what?_


	11. Countertactics and Men From Mars

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"So what you're saying is that these people took your sister, called you up in the middle of the night to say as much, and then told you they'd call when they wanted you to..." Morgan's mind searched for the right word. "…_cooperate_ with them?"

Oliver heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Yes. That's exactly it."

"And how did you know Chase Davis was in the building, anyway? She doesn't usually announce when she's coming…"

"I had no idea who she was. When they called, they said there was a woman on your floor called Chase Davis, and that she'd be with one of your people. When I asked for a description, they just told me to 'put my brilliant skill set to work.'"

"Is that verbatim? 'Brilliant skill set?'" This came from Rossi, who had walked in on the conversation after perusing a little over the file Kevin Lynch had found. Reid was following up on that lead now.

"Yes, sir. It's one of my quirks—I can retell volumes of spoken dialogue verbatim; my sister once said I was like a human tape recorder." The young man's face fell at the thought of his sister, locked up who-knew-where.

"So you just assumed the people in the elevator were the ones you were sent after?"

"No, sir. Well, it's common knowledge who you all are—you've made quite the name for yourselves, and all well earned, but I knew the woman I _now_ know is Chase Davis wasn't one of yours—I didn't recognize the face. When they said she was on this floor, I…"

"You what?" Morgan's patience was wearing thin, but deep down he couldn't find it in his heart to lash out at Oliver, though a part of him wanted so badly to do just that. The poor kid was caught in the middle, just like they were.

"I-I hacked the security feed in the building and did a sweep. I saw her in that little room, with the computers, and I headed down here. By the time I got through the door, she and that other guy…the doctor, I guess…anyway, they were just getting in the elevator."

"And that's where you stopped them."

Oliver nodded. "Look, I may not be the best with names, but…"

"That's obvious," Morgan said. In the two hours he'd been debriefing the young agent, he never once used a name of any kind. He did, however, give detailed descriptions of what people sounded like, of places, of even the drive that he, Chase and Reid had taken for the 'handoff.' Morgan noticed that Oliver's hand was absently working itself over a pad of paper that had been left on the table, as if he were holding a pen and drawing…

"Here," Morgan said, handing Oliver a pen.

"Thanks." The pen began dancing over the paper, twirling lines and flourishes over hastily sketched shapes. "Look, I didn't want any of this to happen, I swear. It's just…well, what would you do?" In a softer tone, he repeated that same question. "What would you do?"

Both men were silent at that. If Oliver was to be believed, he'd been under near-constant surveillance practically every second for the last twelve days. He'd offered up the record he had, by way of photographs that had been sent 'anonymously' to his office and his apartment, and the photos were quite convincing.

"And now three _more_ people are caught up in this," Rossi said.

* * *

"See these?"

"What?" Reid squinted at the screen, trying hard not to lean over Kevin's shoulder as he did. The analyst offered up the chair that Rossi had vacated, and the long-legged agent took it gratefully.

"Here, give me a second." A few keys were tapped, and the screen shifted slightly, showing a batch of binary code that looked like gibberish to the doctor. "See these here, and here, and here?" Kevin said, pointing at points of code that he apparently found interesting.

"Yes…"

"Okay, those are telling me that someone's been sneaking a peek in these particular files and trying not to tip anyone off. Didn't work too well, though, because anyone worth their salt would have spotted those easily. What's strange is that they chose these particular two files…"

Reid looked up at the files. They were Garcia's personnel files she kept on all the team members, and the two in question were the ones she had on herself and on Hotch. Though the team knew part of her job required her to keep files like this, it _did_ seem odd that only their files were touched.

"And then I _really _have to question these two here," Kevin said, pointing at two other files on the screen. These were not personnel files; rather, they were files Garcia had cobbled together on both Chase Davis and Kyle Parker. Another part of her job required her to keep records on various 'outside sources' that the team might work with on occasion, and though the only 'official' case that the team had worked on with Chase and Kyle was the Brennan case, there were notations on other things the two had helped with in passing—things they'd learned over a phone call for a consult, or a hand of euchre. Chase and Kyle kept their own records, and Garcia knew it—she'd traded tips with Kyle on hiding things in cyberspace one night at the Stackhouse after they'd went all in on a hand and lost. Garcia had walked out that night happier than Reid, and the younger agent had won nearly two hundred and fifty dollars in eight games of euchre. '_He's better than good, Reid,'_ she'd said as they'd walked to the car. _'Wherever she found him, he's a keeper!'_

Reid thought about Garcia, and her sunny disposition, and her warmth. It was noticeably absent now.

"Why?"

"Because these two, aside from being in Garcia's system, don't seem to exist much of anywhere outside of this little college town about an hour from here…Campbell, Virginia. It's like they're virtual ghosts or something."

"Well, they _do_ have an interesting sideline…" Reid let the thought drop as another instantly took its place. "Sideline…"

"Ye-eah," Kevin said, staring at Reid like he had beamed in from Mars.

Reid, however, barely noticed. What was it JJ had said earlier?

"She…she…she ends up crossing paths with us on a lot of her cases," Reid said, remembering. "And…and she can keep a secret better than anyone…"

"Oh-kay," Kevin said, still looking at Reid like green antennae had sprouted behind his ears and from out his nose.

"And…and he…she always says 'he's my Garcia, only better'…"

"Uh-huh." Kevin swore he was looking at a real-live Martian masquerading as a living breathing human being.

_What __**else**__ did she say?_ Reid closed his eyes, trying hard to recall the conversation he'd had with JJ in that murdered girl's dorm room.

"It's not coming to me," he said sadly.

"Hello? You still with me?" Kevin's hand waved as if he were an emissary trying to promote peaceful relations.

"Kevin, those files on Chase and Kyle don't 'actually' exist," Reid said finally.

"I know."

"Yet Oliver Lawrence seemed to know something about Chase."

"Well, didn't those people tell him about her?"

"Yeah, but that's just it—how did _they_ know what she does for a living? The sideline, I mean?"

"Some other record, perhaps?"

"Did you find any?"

"Other than what I showed you, well…ah, no."

"Exactly." Reid pointed at the files. "Can you find out who else has accessed these files? Someone obviously did…"

"She said after that woman a couple years ago got shot she turned up the security on all the files pertaining to you guys," Kevin reminded him.

"Yeah, and she'd have done the same for Chase and Kyle, but…I'm telling you, hacking Garcia-level security just for simple personnel files? And only those ones specifically? It doesn't add up!"

"Ah ha," Kevin said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Leave it to me."

Reid left the man to his work. Oddly, he seemed to do better when he was left to his own devices. The thought of the countless hours Reid himself had spent in that room with Garcia going over some odd bit of film or data made the young agent sigh with worry.

* * *

"…and now you know as much as I do," Oliver said. The pen had stopped twitching, and in place of the blank paper sat four portraits, all meticulously detailed. Morgan picked up one of the drawings, studying it with an appraising eye. There was something familiar about that face…

"Someone you know?" Oliver asked, pointing at the drawing.

"No, man, but I could swear I've seen him before…"

"I can't get rid of him," he said. "One will get you ten he's behind the photos. One will get you twenty he's the voice that keeps telling me my sister is 'perfectly fine.'"

"Unless you stop cooperating."

"Yeah. 'Perfectly fine,' my ass. The other three I've seen only seen a couple of times a piece--hanging around my apartment, the bar where I shoot pool, even the parking lot before I hop the train to work. If I were you all, I'd think about tapping your phones—all of them, as well as changing up your routines..."

"What…" Suddenly the light went on in Morgan's head. "Right. I'll get Gar…" He stopped. "Or not. Damn it!"

"I'll do it."

Now Morgan was completely silent. "You'll what?"

"I'll do it. Come on—what do you think I do upstairs all day? Read files and push paper? There is a bit of a hands-on aspect to the job, y'know."

Morgan stared at the handset on the table. He tapped his cell phones thoughtfully. "How fast can you do it?"

"Give me a minute. I want to find my sister and catch these SOB's." Oliver pulled out his phone and made a quick call. "The equipment is on its way," he said.

Just then, a dark head of hair appeared in the doorway. "Any luck finding Hotch?" Morgan asked. "Please, Prentiss, just tell me he's missed the alarm or got caught in the rain…"

"Um…"

"What is it?" Morgan's tone grew very serious.

"We had Anderson go by his house, just as a precaution. JJ was all for going herself, but then again, with everyone turning up missing…" Emily said. Her fingers twitched nervously, as if she were looking for the right words.

"And?"

"And he's not there. But that's not the strange thing."

"I don't think I can handle any more surprises…"

"Well, wherever he went, he didn't take his car…but, ah…"

"What?"

"Does Hotch keep firearms in his house? Besides his sidearm and backup piece, I mean?"

"We could pull permits, but I don't think so…"

"Oh, boy." The look on Emily's face told Morgan already that he wouldn't like where this conversation was going.


	12. Conversations

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Kyle looked up at the giant balcony—the one where Chase was standing, next to the man who had spoken with him shortly after he'd woken up in the white room. –He speaks sign,-- Kyle said, careful to keep his hands in front of him when he wasn't talking.

Chase crinkled her eyebrows. _Which one?_

Kyle tipped his head to the left. _That one._

Above, Chase turned and said something to the man, whom Kyle had dubbed "Zeck." Her cropped hair and her position on the balcony hid her face from Kyle's line of sight, but he was fairly certain she was asking Zeck a question. He could see her hands were bound behind her, making signing from her end impossible.

Zeck was shaking his head now. –Miss Davis, if I do that we both know what will happen next. And I simply cannot allow that.—

Kyle looked at the party standing on the balcony. Aside from Chase and Zeck, there were no less than five 'attendants' standing at equal distances from where Chase stood. Looking on either side of himself, he knew that there was one 'attendant' behind him, and there was one on either side of him. He wasn't much of a fighter, but he could handle himself if it came to it. Taking a couple of steps forward, he tried to get a better look at Chase's mouth. It wasn't like her to keep him out of the loop…

A tug on Kyle's shoulder pulled him back to his original spot. Anger mixed in with desperation as he tried in vain to catch the hurried words Chase was saying.

He tried reaching up to take the cloth out of his mouth, hoping he could call out to her, but as soon as his hands reached for it they were violently yanked back to his sides. Brilliant blue eyes glared angrily at the man to his right.

"Don't even think about it," the man said, making sure to enunciate. "Keep them in front of you, or we're done here."

The man's head jerked upward—probably at a sound coming from the balcony—but he never moved. Kyle's breaths grew harsher as the combination of ire and helplessness began to settle through his frame. Looking up at Chase, he moved his hands and fingers very carefully.

--Shorthand.—

Chase nodded.

--Why won't they let you talk to me?—

It took Chase a minute, then she spoke, through Zeck's translation. –They're afraid I'll escape.—

Kyle smiled at that. –Thinking about it?—

Another minute. –Off and on. We're not the only ones here.—

--I know. Garcia's here too. They want us to do something for them…a hack, I think.—

--Her boss will be glad to hear she's all right.—

--What?—

Chase stared at him, the _come-on-it's-really-obvious_ stare.

Kyle's eyes widened as he finally realized what she'd said.

--Are you okay?— she asked.

--I've been better.—

--I know.-- Her brows knitted together, and she tossed her eyes form left to right. _Assholes._

Kyle tipped his head to the side. _What're you gonna do?_

Another face, this one tightening her smile a bit and raising her eyebrows. _What I always do, I guess._

Kyle raised his eyebrows as high as they could go. _Hurry up about it…_

Chase looked from side to side, then tipped her head to the left. _I'm trying…_

Suddenly Zeck said something to Chase. Chase seemed to be trying to placate him, but moments later the 'attendants' surrounded her and began moving her away from the edge and out of sight. Kyle tried to back up, hoping to keep her in sight, but she was only able to mouth out two words before she was blindfolded again and 'escorted' out.

_They're coming._

Without warning, Kyle's world fell back into an endless sea of black. Something cold and metal clasped itself around his wrists, and they fell to his waist from the weight. His hands were in front of him, allowing him to sign, but he couldn't call out or see anything.

--Please,-- he signed. –Please, take this off. I won't run, I promise.—

The cloth never moved, and the gentle hands once again began leading him out of the marble room and back down the winding labyrinth of a corridor.

* * *

"I sincerely hope you are now quite satisfied," the cultured man said as Chase was dragged down the hall. "Here I offer you the chance to speak with Mr. Parker—something our other guests have not had opportunity to do with their loved ones, I might add—and you have to get clever about it."

"Speak? You wouldn't let me say anything to him!"

"It's for the best it was that way, Miss Davis. I would have hated to have to take out my ire on someone else, like Agent Hotchner, or Miss Garcia, or even Mr. Parker himself…"

Chase snorted. "You think you've beaten me," she said coldly.

"I know I've stopped you from lashing out, or doing what it is you're so famous for, in any case." At Chase's slack jaw, the voice said, "Oh, yes, Miss Davis, your reputation proceeds you quite far…"

Sullenly, Chase fell silent. Once she was in front of the door to her 'room,' she tried to listen for how the mechanics of the door worked. The pneumatic _whooshing_ sound that accompanied the door opening masked it.

After a few long strides, Chase was put back into the chair and told to stay put. There was a metallic _clicking _sound that rang in her right ear, and a shuffle of something against a hard surface.

The door _whooshed _shut, and Chase once again counted five before standing upright and removing her blindfold. Her hands had been released once she had been placed into the chair. She turned to see Hotch sitting in one of the chairs at the table, his spoon absently stirring a well-nursed cup of coffee.

"How's the eyes, sir?" she asked.

"A little better, though not much," Hotch said honestly. "I know you from somewhere…"

"Yes sir. Campbell, Virginia. The Brennan case."

The connection was instantaneous. "Chase Davis."

Chase smiled. "Welcome back to the living, sir."

"What the hell is going on here?"

Chase sighed. "It's a really, really long story."

"I've got time."

"Yes. That we do." And with that, Chase launched into a marathon explanation.

* * *

Kyle began to fight his 'attendants' about the last third of the way to wherever it was he was being taken. He struggled against the strong hands that were forcing him to stay where he was, within reach, and even made an attempt to try and run—though in retrospect he realized that with no sight he wouldn't get very far. His wrists felt so heavy that every time he tried to pick them up towards his eyes they sank back to their position near his waist. _What did they put on me?_ he thought.

By the time he was shoved inside his own room, Kyle could feel his 'attendants' working overtime trying to keep someone from coming to his aid. He was tossed harshly on top of one of the beds, had his wrists unshackled, and then felt a finger poke him in the shoulder five times. Kyle caught the implication immediately. There was something else pressed into his back—cold, hard, and cylindrical—and Kyle knew what that meant too. He stopped struggling and slowly began to count five. He then tore the blindfold off of his brow and threw it across the room with enough force to send it bouncing off the wall.

Next to him, Garcia's face was a picture of confusion and shock. "What happened?" she said.

Fishing the cloth out of his mouth, he replied, --"I saw Chase. She's here. They got her too. Something isn't right here, Penelope."—

--I know.-- "There was a girl in the bath…she said she's a student at Georgetown, some kind of mathematics…"

--"Could be a lot of things. Engineering, statistical theory, cryptography…"—

Garcia's eyes lit up and she jabbed a finger in the air at the last one. "That's it."

--"I met a plane mechanic. They want him to do something to a plane. Something special…"—

"All these people…"

--"There's more. Chase said your boss is here."--

"My… You mean H-O-T-C-H?" Garcia asked, fingerspelling the name.

--"I think so."—

--Why Hotch?—

--"What can you tell me about him?"--

--Why?--

--"Because maybe we can figure out what's going on if you do,-- Kyle said. --"It might be our only way out of this."--


	13. The Puzzle Comes Together

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Emily, if you say 'oh, boy' one more time…"

"Okay, we're up a well-known creek without a paddle. Or at least Hotch is, anyway." The information she'd received in the last few minutes had settled hard with Emily. "I mean, come on—the man's nowhere to be found, especially for a Wednesday; there's some pretty extensive files on several well-connected people in this town lying in his kitchen, and there's not one, but _two_ empty firearms cases in his living room. Derek, if you and I didn't know Hotch the way we do, even _you'd_ say there's something not right about all this!"

"But we _do _know Hotch, and that's just crazy!"

"Well…"

"What?!"

Emily pored over what little of the files she had. Once the evidence had been found, the bureau had called in the counterterrorism unit to take over the case, and those agents now were scouring every inch of Hotch's life. The little bit of information that came in now was coming through Oliver Lawrence, who was still hard at work setting taps in every phone on the BAU's floor.

"They're chomping at the bit for me to get upstairs," the young agent said, wiping a piece of dark hair out from his line of sight. "Three teams up there, and they have to send mine out…"

"Wait a minute—you head up your own team?" Morgan asked.

"Kind of. My Unit Chief is insanely good at what he does; he's just incredibly cerebral and hates leaving the office if he can help it. When it comes to the field stuff, I'm the one making the calls. Why?"

Both Morgan and Emily looked at each other as if a light had gone off in their heads. "Why?" Oliver demanded. "What is it?"

Without answering, the two profilers raced down to Garcia's office, Oliver following close behind. "Any luck with those files?" Emily asked.

"Oh, don't get me started," Kevin said. "Whoever these people are, they are _seriously_ working my last nerve. They've gone from a simple hack to something a bit more devious, and I'm _still_ trying to break the damn thing. Why they figured they'd need Penelope or that Parker guy is beyond me—they've got some seriously skilled people on their own staff."

"How's that?"

A finger pointed out a several spaces on the lines of code. "See these?"

Morgan, Emily, and Oliver stared at it for a second. "It's Linux code," said Oliver. "After that, no, not something I know, why?"

"Well, these _particular_ lines of code are files—some massively encrypted ones, too," Kevin explained. "I know Penelope put a lot of encryption on your files, but still, this is over kill…"

"Wait a minute," Oliver said, studying the bits of code a little more carefully. There was something familiar about them…

"Huh," he said finally. Reaching for a piece of paper, he scribbled a complex algorithm on it. "Run this through your system, and see if that helps."

Puzzled, Kevin did as he was told. Moments after he hit the last keystroke, the files dissolved and reappeared as readable text.

"How'd you know that?" Morgan asked.

"Because cryptographers are like any kind of artist; they like to sign their work," Oliver explained. "Now I know why they wanted Sarah—she's studying to do just that. This is one of her 'easier' codes—she loaned it to me to use on my own system here for things I want to hide from my colleagues."

"Why would you…"

"Because it's easier than you think for the wrong kinds of people to see the wrong information. Yes, Agent Prentiss, we're a little paranoid upstairs, but with good reason, wouldn't you say?"

Emily exhaled sharply, but a smile crossed her face. Leaning over Kevin's shoulder to see the unlocked files, her eyes were met with a surprise.

"Oh, my God…"

"What is it?" Morgan cried.

"I think we'd better get everyone together on this," Emily said. "Print out everything you've found on these files—and I mean _everything_—and bring it up to the conference room. I'll help you carry it."

--

Two hours later, Emily began putting everything in order. Her colleagues, now 'chomping at the bit' themselves, tried to refrain from hurrying the woman as much as possible. However, they all knew that time was of the essence.

In the corner of the room, a phone rang. "I'll take this," Oliver said, stepping just outside the door. The sounds of the young agent trying to explain himself to his superiors floated inside.

"All right, so what's the connection?" Rossi asked.

"Every one of these people has a government connection," Emily began.

"We knew that," Morgan countered.

"But not like this," Emily declared. "A trained aircraft mechanic goes missing, who just happens to be in a long-term relationship with a pilot licensed to fly things like stealth planes and the like. A chemist specializing in chemical weapons compounds goes missing, and her brother just happens to work on a government airfield." Sticking the photos in two columns on the giant board, she continued. "A robotic weapons designer disappears, and his father is renowned for making the shells of chemical weapons. And that's just the civilians."

Morgan looked out at Oliver, who was still arguing with his bosses upstairs. In exasperation, the younger man hung up. "You know, there's something to be said for the old rotary handsets," he said, storming back into the meeting under a black cloud. "You feel better when you can slam the thing into the receiver instead of punching a button…"

Oliver suddenly noticed that seven pairs of eyes were trained on him. "What?" he said, the paranoid part of him starting to kick in. On the table there were five files spread out, and he could see his face emblazoned on one of them.

"Hey, how did you…"

"You gave us your sister's code, remember?"

"Oh."

"Code?" Reid asked.

"Sarah—my sister, that is—she's majoring in cryptography, mathematics based stuff," Oliver explained to the rest. "She's only twenty, but she's good—brilliant, really…"

"And it was her code that was blocking _these_," Kevin added, pointing out some extensive research on two noticeably absent people. "Now, they've got their own people who seem to be very capable of hacking complicated systems—I know Penelope's is one of the best, and it sounds like this Parker guy isn't too far off either…"

"He's not," Reid confirmed. "On par with Garcia, and that's saying something."

"Which doesn't explain why these people took them," JJ said. "I mean, if all this was planted _before_ Garcia and Kyle Parker disappeared, why take them? What purpose would they serve?"

Oliver had sat down at the table between Rossi and Reid, and had been silently poring over the recently unencrypted files they'd just accessed. A frown darkened his even features, and he suddenly got up and began writing something on the board.

"Care to share with the class?" Rossi asked.

Oliver shook his head, scribbling even more furiously. The chicken scratch he put up there was practically unintelligible, and even Reid, the handwriting expert, gave up trying to decipher it.

"Guys," he said finally, "these people didn't take your people because they wanted them to _do_ something…not per se, anyway…"

"What?" The sentiment was collective.

"Well, look at these files—your guy, Hotchner, he's got more than several commendations for his work as a federal prosecutor, his skills here as a profiler and even as leader of your unit. But what's standing out in _this_ file are his marksmanship skills and his time in SWAT. You put a guy like him out there, with the right set of evidence, and what do immediately think?"

"I think that you're crazy, because that's not Hotch," Morgan said defensively.

"Think like someone who's only got this to go on, Agent Morgan," Oliver said. "Think like me, for a minute, who knows nothing about this guy _except_ what's here."

"He makes a good point," Rossi declared. "I mean, we all know Hotch, but given what he's gone through over the past year…you throw a record like this in the mix, and suddenly the picture changes."

"Gone through?" Oliver's ears perked up at that bit.

"Wife left him, mostly arguments over his working so much," JJ said. "He's got a three-year old son, too, but the arrangements there are pretty decent. It wasn't a bitter split, but he really wanted to make it work."

"Still, wouldn't you, looking at this and knowing that, call that a serious reason to plan out some revenge of some kind?"

"Not on that alone. But…" Emily shifted her weight a little, looking incredibly nervous.

"What, Emily?" Rossi asked.

"It's…"

"It's what, Prentiss?" Morgan's tone left no room for nonsense.

Emily sighed. "Remember back when we had all those problems with Strauss?"

Four heads nodded.

"Well, she tried to use me as a…a mole, of sorts," Emily confessed. "Whatever problem she has with Hotch, she wanted him gone, and fast."

"Why you?" JJ asked.

"I was new. I'd lobbied hard to get here, and she was willing to use that against me."

"And rather than snitch, you quit," Morgan said.

"Yeah. I told him, I hate politics."

"Well, from my perspective, I put that and the divorce together, and probably some other things we don't know about, and it's beginning to look like your guy is the perfect frontman for a frame-up." Oliver sighed.

"What about Chase?" Reid wondered.

"Huh?"

"Chase. Remember? The woman you handed over to those people?"

"Oh." Oliver scoured the file he had on her, which was incredibly thin. "Well, looks like their people aren't good enough—they didn't find much on her, though it looks like she's pretty talented. Got marksmanship scores, commendations from some pretty high levels of the government, and it says here she runs a small force for a college?"

"Campbell Institute for the Deaf," JJ confirmed. "Her parents' school."

Every head turned at that.

"Well, that explains a lot about the Brennan case," Morgan said.

"Yeah. Her grandfather started the school some forty years ago, and her father took it over as president. When her godfather died, the school's board hired a new president--the personable man we never met--but in the school's charter it states that Chase's job is guaranteed for her lifetime, in any capacity she wants to serve in. They can't fire her."

"And as good as she is, why would they?" Emily asked.

"Still, though, there's something else about her," Oliver said. "I mean, these people were insistent I hand her over to them—there's gotta be something else we're missing."

"Her sideline," said Reid.

Again one person had the whole room's attention.

"She freelances for various people. Field work, reconnaissance, mostly information gathering," Reid said. "She's careful not to say too much about it, but it's been mentioned in passing time and again. Most of her contracts are government, I think—her clearance is higher than even the Director's, I think."

"Which explains why she always comes in the back door, in the dark," JJ said, remembering her last greeting by the woman. "If anyone saw her around a building too much, she'd get noticed real quick."

"Okay, so we've got a very skilled profiler and marksman on one end, and what sounds like Ian Fleming's dream girl on the other," said Oliver.

"Put them together, and you could pull anything off…."

Oliver nodded. "And if you have two computer geniuses who can be made to plant all that information, rather than doing it yourself…"

"And you have the perfect escape cover on your hands, if you're a terrorist," Rossi finished.

"Exactly," Oliver said. "The missing firearms in your guy's house, Miss Davis's prints on the cases and some of the files, and two hackers with incomplete or classified backgrounds, along with the other missing people and their specialties…we've _got_ to find them."


	14. The Facts So Far

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Kyle tapped his fingers on the tabletop. –That's everything?—he signed, before remembering to use his voice.

Beside him, Garcia nodded. "He's a pretty private person, doesn't talk about himself too much."

--"Neither does Chase,"— the young man replied. –"I think it's kind of a part of her not to talk too much. Carries a lot, you know."—

It took Garcia a moment to comprehend Kyle's last remark. Pointing to his ears, he slowly spun his finger around the room, indicating the walls. She nodded in understanding.

--I think they plan to set us up,-- Kyle signed. He was certain to only use signs he knew Garcia would understand.

--Why?—

"From what you've told me, and what I know about Chase, they'd look like the perfect choice for running a large-scale operation."

"Operation?"

--T-E-R-R-O-R-I-S-T P-L-O-T,-- Kyle fingerspelled slowly. –"The mechanic, the code student, Agent Hotchner, Chase, you and me."—

Garcia now desperately wished she'd asked the people who'd brought in their dinner for a sign language dictionary. Though she did read on occasion, she preferred visual things, like graphic novels and the like to a reference book. _Where's Reid when you need him? _she thought to herself.

"But what do planes, codes, and computers have to do with Hotch and Chase?" she finally asked.

It took Kyle a minute to process her question. He then picked up his hands and set them as if he were aiming an imaginary rifle.

"No way," Garcia said, shaking her head. "Not in a million years."

--"They wouldn't have to,"—Kyle said. –"It just has to look like they would do something like that."—

Garcia still shook her head. "Hotch wouldn't. Not unless he had to. Not unless someone were trying to kill him."

--"Chase either. She's turned down all jobs that even hint at doing something like that. She says that's what the CIA and black ops are for."-- Kyle stood up and paced the room for a minute. –"But a good enough frame job will be enough to do them in, unless they can prove themselves…"—

Garcia pointed at herself, and at Kyle. –We'll tell them. The police, or the FBI, or whoever comes.—

--"Tell them what? 'Oh, they had nothing to do with it because someone made us put that information out there?' That only puts us in the hot seat, and doesn't help them any!"—

K-I-D-N-A-P-P-E-D, Garcia fingerspelled. –All of us.—

Kyle made a show of examining his arms and legs. –"Prove it."—

Garcia looked at her own limbs, which had no visible trace of abuse or restraint on them. _He's right,_ she thought sadly. _If they put us back in our own houses, or drop us someplace other than here, we'd have no proof we didn't plan whatever they're doing out there on our own. We'd all look like traitors and terrorists…_

Kyle's pacing quickened. He always paced the floor when he got worked up or nervous. His hands were scanning the walls, his fingertips searching for some hint of the exit they'd been escorted through more than once. "Damn it!" he finally shouted (or, at least, he thought he'd shouted). –"I can't sit here and let them _do_ this!"—

"That's the problem," Garcia said, making certain Kyle could follow her lips. "We don't have any idea what 'this' is."

* * *

As Hotch listened, the young woman in front of him began outlining what had happened during her absence. "Sir, I think there's more going on here than anyone really knows about—and I think we're going to have to answer for it."

"Why do you think that?"

"There's now a total of eight people missing: a chemist, a robotics engineer, a student from Georgetown, an airplane mechanic, Kyle, Garcia, and you and me. Every one of us has some sort of connection to the government in some way, shape or form—and the thing is, the people that are missing all of us? They have connections too."

"Blackmail?"

"Yes, but not like you'd think. See, if you take one half of a pair of people…"

"…the other will generally comply with demands, given their loved one is at stake."

"Right."

"But how is that different from ordinary blackmail or kidnap-and-ransom extortion? Surely these people have factored in the off chance that one of these people out there will tell them 'no'…" Hotch's mind was now beginning to work on six of his normal eight cylinders. The water he'd been drinking, along with the coffee, was helping flush whatever drug it was out of his system.

"Honestly? I think the leverage works both ways."

"How so?"

"Well, take the guy I met this morning, Oliver," Chase said. "From what I gather, the guy's on the fast-track over at the FBI, poised to head up a unit of his own if he plays his cards right. Probably worked hard to get where he's going, and really believes in doing the right thing. The sister gets snatched, and suddenly it's a whole new ballgame."

"You've just described the standard predicament for people who've had their loved one stolen from them," Hotch remarked.

"Yeah, but what if it's a one-for-one situation? Like, say, in Oliver's case, the sister is all the family he has? Now, things are different."

"Depends on the relationship, though."

"That's true. But again, let's look at the ones we know—a brother and sister; another brother and sister—the chemist and the guy over at Andrews; a father and his son; a pair of close partners and…" Chase's head tipped a bit, as she was puzzling over the one pair that didn't fit. "Huh."

"What?"

"You and Miss Garcia."

Hotch's brows raised a little. "What about it?"

"Honestly, it doesn't make sense."

"She's my techinical analyst, and a valuable member of my team."

"That's just it, Agent Hotchner," Chase said. "You and she are part of a larger whole. All the rest of us are on a one-for-one basis, and you two are part of something bigger—means more people involved, more variables to worry about. If I were running this operation, I'd have gone for the obvious."

"You're saying we're not close enough?"

"I'm saying that yours is a purely working relationship, though it might not be the case—I don't know."

"It's…"

"I know, 'hard to explain.'" Chase smiled. "I think I understand. You feel the same way about _all_ your agents, I bet."

"Yes."

"See there, I don't know everything." The young woman smiled. "I'll have to tell him that when we get out of here…"

Hotch's brows raised again.

"Kyle always thinks I 'know' everything," Chase explained. "I keep telling him that's not true, I'm just observant and listen well."

"Uh-huh."

Chase heaved a huge sigh. "There's only three more things I have to figure out…"

"What these people are really up to, and how my team plays a part in all of this," Hotch replied. "And the third?"

"How on earth we're getting out of here," Chase said, looking at the plain blue walls. She absently began clearing the table of the few dishes that had been brought in, setting them neatly on the oversized silver tray that sat on the opposite end of the table surface. She stopped moving, staring at the tray for a long moment.

"I've got an idea," she said, her face brightening.


	15. Elsewhere

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

In a small room near the western end of the complex, a woman bent over a massive worktable. Three 'attendants' stood guard over her as she carefully poured different liquids into large beakers and mixed in various compounds. The room was well lit and ventilated, and nearby hung several breathing masks and various safety implements.

There was a powerful smell, like a mixture of sulfur and burning charcoal that lingered. The woman had grown accustomed to the scent—it had been hanging over her for nearly five days now, with no real end in sight.

"Interesting," a voice said. Startled, the woman looked up, her eyes studying the moving frame which had produced the sound. Her eyes furrowed and she bent over her work once more.

"Any progress?"

She shook her head sadly. "N-no, not yet," she said, her own voice barely a whisper. "I-I'm trying…"

"There's only a few days left, Susan," the first voice said, its cultured tones grating on her already frayed nerves. "I understand this takes time, but your work is of most importance to our operation."

"Operation." Susan spat the word like a bug that had flown unheeded into her mouth. "You mean plot. Why not just say it? You plan to kill all of us, every person you've kidnapped and coerced…"

"Temper, Susan," the cultured voice said gently as a sharp object protruded into the woman's lower back. "I know that mixing gunpowder with your creation there would be catastrophic to all of us at this time, but surely we wouldn't want you to get 'caught up' in a sort of accident…nor your brother, for that matter…"

Susan resisted the overwhelming urge to throw the mixture in the beaker in the man's face. It was highly corrosive and extremely flammable, which might have given her a chance against this man and his men.

"Come now. The bulk of the device is almost built, so your part needs to be ready—and soon. A few more days, and this becomes nothing more than a bad dream."

"I'd rather hang myself."

"I should certainly hope you wouldn't."

"One life to atone for the thousands? millions? of people you'll destroy? It wouldn't be enough. But it'd be a start."

"Keep working, Susan. I'm not sure I can keep my people from creating an 'accident' at the airfield much longer…"

Susan stopped before her next sentence came out. She knew her brother had a bit of a temper, and could be grating on a person's nerves at times. Despite that, she couldn't let these…_murderers_ begin by taking him away from her for good. He was all she had.

Defeated, Susan sunk deeper into her work. After a few minutes, the cultured voice left her to her task.

"Oh, and Susan," the voice called out just before it left the room. "We will, of course, need to test the compound—just a precaution, you know."

Susan's hopes couldn't sink lower. The compound would have to work. Any hope she'd had of creating a dummy was dashed.

She sighed. "Hand me that container over there," she asked, pointing to a large jar. One of her 'attendants' obliged her, careful to set it well within her limited range of motion.

"You know, I could get things myself if I weren't chained to the floor…"

"Orders, ma'am. Precautionary measure. You understand."

The truth be told, Susan didn't understand any of it. Not one single part.

* * *

In a large hangar, Jason toiled underneath the body of an airplane the likes of which he'd never come across. Eight years in the Air Force had let him see the undersides of thousands of machines that could fly in the air—the smaller single-engines were still his favorite—but nothing had prepared him for a device like this one. It reminded the mechanic of a cross between a stealth bomber and a Cessna.

He'd had to build the entire thing from scratch, using blueprints that his captors had gained from somewhere. The entire thing had taken now over six weeks, as that irritating man in charge kept coming in for 'inspections' every third or fourth day and telling him to change up a few things.

_If he's so certain this thing needs to 'be' a certain way, why didn't he just get his own people to do this, or do it himself? _ Jason privately wondered. What puzzled the man was that most of the adjustments had been to the cockpit and pilot's seat—it was as if they were designing this for a specific pilot, not just as an aircraft for general use.

Jason stared at the blueprints again, trying to figure out exactly what it was he was being forced to build. He'd tried escaping the first couple of days after he'd been brought to wherever-it-was he was currently standing, but there'd been a heavy guard presence around the entire perimeter of the hangar.

"Stop trying to figure it out, Mr. Hennessey," an older man chastised him. The man had been 'working' with Jason for much of the six weeks, along with two other men that at least knew their way around a toolbox. "It won't do you any good."

"If I knew what it was you people were looking for in your craft, I could maybe customize it better…"

"It's none of your concern. Here," the man said, handing a large flap up to Jason. "This goes there, underneath."

Jason studied the flap carefully. It looked like half of a trapdoor; the kind found in some cargo planes or bombers. He looked up from underneath the metal frame he had been working on and stared at the man. "What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice softer than normal.

"In time. Now, get to work."

* * *

In a small room near the eastern end of the complex, a stout man with graying hair leaned over a worktable, tinkering with yet another set of small screws that needed to be put carefully into place. He'd built robotic arms and other devices before—this was certainly nothing new—but it still puzzled him as to _why_ these people had taken him from his home in the middle of the night. He recalled being extremely hazy as he'd felt himself lifted off of his bed and carried out into the night. The rest was a blur after that, until he'd woken up in that pale green room.

Beside him on the worktable sat an assortment of metal components, screws, fasteners, screwdrivers, wrenches, wires, and even a couple of small prototypes for metal containers of some sort. One of these was egg-shaped, another round, and still another was a long, cylindrical tube that opened at either end.

A _whooshing _sound filled the man's ears, and suddenly he came face to face with the person he believed to be in charge. "Yes?" he asked, his voice flat. He'd learned early on that arguing with this man, or asking for a straight answer of any kind, was as productive as throwing whipped cream against a brick wall.

"I trust you've got some designs for me?" the newcomer asked, his voice smooth and cultured.

The stout man waved his hand carelessly at the three prototypes. "For what you seem to want, those would do the trick. Small enough to fit inside a robotic claw, can contain up to five liters of liquid substance or three pounds of solid substance.

The cultured voice studied each container with an appraising eye. "Hmm," he said, his fingers running over each one. "Would you say this egg-shaped one would do well aerodynamically?"

"Yes, if I were pressed. It'd drop better—though, why anyone would want to drop something that small is beyond me…"

"Yes, well, it's all in good time. I need at least six more of these ones—how long, would you say?"

"Three days, minimum. Can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Why snatch me in the middle of the night? Why not just put in an order for these things? I take private contracts too…"

"We have our reasons."

The stout man's eyes furrowed in consternation. _Can't a man get a straight answer around here?_

"Now, three days, you said?"

"Yeah. If I last that long." A wide yawn escaped from underneath the stout man's handlebar mustache, and he felt like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Very well. Let's take you back to your room. I imagine some rest and some dinner would do well about now…"

There was a few moments as two 'attendants' came in, one holding a thin key. Seconds later, the man was taking restrained steps along a dark corridor, his eyes having been tightly bound.

* * *

In the white room, Kyle dreaded the thought of having to look at a computer. He wanted to be as far away from a monitor as he could possibly be.

Next to him, Garcia privately worried. She remembered the insane amount of trouble that had come with her subsequent hiring over at the FBI: days spent in a six by eight cell, agents questioning her nearly every twenty minutes as over forty agents trained in computer hacking and programming tried to undo the damage she'd done.

_Miss Garcia, this work is absolutely exasperating,_ she remembered the lead agent on her case saying so many years ago. _Exasperating, infuriating…and completely brilliant. Self-taught, you say?_

_A semester of college, but yeah, why?_

_Miss Garcia, I really shouldn't be saying this, but I think you might have a choice on your hands…_

She remembered the choice: go to prison for pretty much most of her young life, or take a job working for the federal government. The choice hadn't been a hard one. Garcia remembered the first couple of years being bounced around from department to department, landing finally on the tenth floor—the BAU—in late 2004. She had proven herself there, and now couldn't imagine ever leaving. _It's the people,_ she thought, now flashing through the countless agents she'd assisted there over the years. Her mind lingered on several faces she knew well—the image of Morgan fixing her chair; of Reid partaking in popcorn as they scanned footage; of Emily tricking that hapless guy at the bar; of JJ in one of her press conferences, looking as in control as ever.

_What do these people __**want**__? _she thought angrily. _They certainly don't need me to sit around here and do nothing…_

Suddenly a sharp _whooshing_ sound came from the area near the door. Reaching over, Garcia tapped Kyle on the shoulder and pointed behind him. The younger man spun around, hoping to get a look at their 'visitor.'

--"It's time,"—the cultured man said, signing for Kyle's benefit. –"Your part comes in three stages—follow directions and complete them, and both of you will be free to go."—

Kyle signed something. Garcia caught the shape of a 'C' followed quickly by an 'H'—the sign for Chase Davis.

The cultured man signed something back. Garcia caught the sign for 'fine'—a curled hand, the middle finger touching the chest, drawing the hand upward a few inches. The look on Kyle's face told Garcia he didn't believe what he was being told.

There was a part of her that desperately wanted to know what was being done to Hotch, but Garcia remained silent about that. She didn't want to tip these people off too much, and let slip she had some information they didn't know about. Privately, she didn't believe these people when they said that they would be let go either.

The cultured man motioned two 'attendants' to come closer. Each walked up, holding a long black cloth in their hands.

Kyle balked, his eyes widening, his face turning angry and more than a little scared. His hands were flying in what Garcia thought might be an impassioned plea to keep his sight.

The cultured man shook his head, signing a reply.

Kyle's eyes darted around the room, as if he were looking for an escape. He shifted his weight on his left foot a little, poising himself to bolt.

The cultured man snapped his fingers, and instantly six more 'attendants' came forth, all of them grabbing hold of Kyle.

"Stop!" Garcia pleaded, watching in horror as Kyle was bound and blindfolded. The younger man was thrashing wildly, struggling with all his might to be able to see. "He's afraid of the dark, can't you see that?"

"Miss Garcia, I simply cannot allow people to walk about in this facility without proper safeguards. Surely you understand."

"He can't hear," Garcia argued. "And then you take the thing he depends on most from him? He not just walking blind, he's literally helpless! He can't hear people coming or determine how far a wall is from him through sound—he's just trying to function, not escape!"

"Miss Garcia, I know quite a lot about him. He's had training from one of the best—he could very well be trying just that."

Garcia looked over at the seething, shaking figure that was now forced into a kneeling position next to her. His voice was crying out, and it sounded halfway between a strangled sob and a dying cat.

"Don't…don't do this to him," she pleaded once more. "If you want him to cooperate, at least let him have something in return…"

"We've already given him more than most, Miss Garcia. Now, if you please…"

The black cloth wound tightly over her own eyes, and a soft cord wound over her wrists. "Walk," a voice said in her ear. She took a few careful steps, all the while being led down the cold, silent corridor.

* * *

The girl tired of staring at peach walls. She'd been staring at them for days, ever since she'd given them that little bit of code. Sarah desperately hoped that Oliver was the one reading through those files, or whatever it was they were using her code for—he was the only other person who had the key, other than herself and her captors. She hadn't been allowed anywhere near a computer terminal, but had been seated next to a man who punched in her algorithm that turned plain English into complete gibberish.

She picked half-heartedly at her dinner—strawberry Belgian waffles with maple syrup, a tossed salad with French and chocolate pudding, her favorite—and began to wonder if this was where she would die. After she'd given up the algorithm, she'd been allowed to function like a normal person for a while—there had been books brought to this room, as well as a bowl for washing up and even some music. Only a couple of hours ago she'd been allowed a real bath and a conversation with a blonde woman who had been worried but nice. The strains of instrumental music were currently floating around the room, her head absently weaving in time to the sound.

She'd asked about Oliver. She'd begged to speak with him, even for a second—if only to prove she was still alive. She knew he would be desperately worried about her—he'd promised Mama, after all, and now that both she and Dad were gone, Oliver looked after her. She was almost nine years younger, but she and Oliver had always been close.

_Ollie, I hope you find the code before any one else does,_ she thought fervently. _You're the only one who can crack it now…_

There was a _whooshing_ sound that broke the time of the music. A tall figure stared at her for a moment, taking in her lithe frame and even features.

"Ah, Miss Lawrence," the gentleman said, his eyes approving. "You've done remarkably well for us—that piece of code is working superbly. I must ask, though, that you create one more for us…something new, something remarkable."

Sarah's eyes grew cold and distant. "What for?" she asked.

"I wouldn't trouble yourself too much with that, my dear," the man said.

Privately, Sarah worried just what was going on. It had certainly been over a week since she'd been brought to this place—time was a thing that could not be measured here in this room—and she hoped that someone had noticed her absence by now…

"May…may I speak to my brother?" she asked. "Please?"

The gentleman's eyes furrowed slightly. "I thought we'd already been over this, Miss Lawrence…"

"I-I just want to talk to him," Sarah said softly. "I want to let him know that I'm all right."

The gentleman's head tilted slightly, as if considering the matter. Moments later, something pressed against Sarah's hand.

"Five minutes," the gentleman said. "Then it's back to work."

* * *

Eight people sat in the conference room on the tenth floor, staring at what had amounted to be a small pile of paperwork. There were bugs in every handset and cell phone in the place, the giant board centered on the north wall was plastered in photographs and lists of information the team had regarding each missing person, and everyone in that room had spent the last several hours giving statements about what they were doing to various members of the counterterrorism unit. Following a Chase-like example, Oliver had conveniently left out the part about his sister, and the team had left out mention of Chase and Kyle altogether. As far as they were concerned, those were private affairs and would be dealt with in-house.

"Did anyone talk with Carl Schafer?" Rossi asked, poring over a profile and thin dossier of the man's son, Roger.

"The engineer's father?" Reid asked. "Yeah, I talked with him over the phone. He's based up near Baltimore, has a good working relationship with his son as well as a personal one. Roger is his only child. Mr. Schafer's wife died about ten years ago, and there's no other family."

Oliver made notes on a large legal pad. "That's the third pairing with no other family," he mused. "Susan Howell and her brother James are all that's left of their family as well—the parents died when they were teenagers and they lived with an uncle. The uncle died about seven years ago."

"What's the third pairing?" Morgan asked.

"Jason Hennessey and Steven Shaw," Emily replied, hanging up the phone. "Shaw seemed reluctant to talk on the phone long, but I was able to get that much out of him. Both of their families gave them the cold shoulder once they came out of the closet, so the only real family they have other than each other is a cousin of Steven's outside of Dallas that visits about one a year and their housekeeper, Nameeta."

"What's his connection to the government?" Oliver asked. "Every player in this has one…"

"He's a pilot," Emily confirmed. "Just like in the dossier."

"Uh-huh."

"James Howell has been working at Andrews for over fifteen years," JJ said. "He's cleaned and inspected over three dozen governmental aircraft since he started there, and he's got clearance to work on some pretty important planes…"

"Like what?"

"Like not Marine One or Air Force One—you have to be active military for that—but diplomats, congressional members, senators, things like that."

"So whatever these people are planning, it's not against the president," said Oliver. "We can assume, and hope, anyway. I'd really rather not have to get the Secret Service involved."

"That bad, huh?" Morgan asked.

"Pain-in-the-ass, those people," Oliver confirmed, bringing a small smile or a single chuckle to the people around him. "I'd rather have the IRS sicced on me."

Just then Oliver's phone rang. The cheerful _bleep_ was enough to silence the entire room in an instant.

"Who is it?" Rossi asked.

Oliver studied the face of his phone carefully, then took a deep breath. "It's them," he said.

Kevin hurried out of the room, taking Oliver's phone number with him. Seconds later he called out "Go."

"Hello?"

"Ollie?"

The young agent's face flushed with relief. "Sarah?!"

"Yeah, it's me. I don't have long…"

Oliver's face fell. "Don't worry, I'm working on it, hon. I'll get you out of there…"

"Hurry. I don't know what they're…"

"Sarah?" Oliver called, nearly shouting down the phone. "Sarah?!"

"She's perfectly fine, Agent Lawrence," a voice crooned, sending chills down Oliver's spine.

"What have you done to her?" Oliver asked. Several pairs of eyes widened at his statement.

"Nothing, nothing. As you can see, she's in perfect health. Continue to cooperate, and she'll stay that way."

"What about Chase Davis? Is she 'in perfect health' as well?"

"That's of no concern to you, Agent Lawrence. Now, there's a package I want you to pick up—you _personally_," the man dictated. "In three hours you'll collect it near Andrews, and, Agent Lawrence, I expect it's instructions will be followed to the letter…"

Oliver was silent a moment. "Of course," he said finally, his voice conceding defeat.

"Very well. Until then. Oh, and please tell the others in the room with you that their colleagues are unharmed and perfectly fine, won't you?"

The line went dead. Kevin stuck his head out from behind Garcia's door. "It's a disposable cell. I can't get a name."

"How about a location?" Morgan asked.

"Not long enough. I could get as far as a general area, but it's pretty big--nearly half of DC and parts of Northern Virginia big."

"Too big to comb down, small enough to give us an idea," Oliver said.

"Did they say anything about Garcia? Or Hotch?" Morgan asked, his face growing serious.

"Only that they're unharmed, and 'fine,'" Oliver groused. "Which means we don't really know anything at all."


	16. Incident in the Blue Room

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

In the blue room, Hotch and Chase sat quietly at the table, waiting for the tray to be picked up. Chase had cleared off the small space, stacking the dishes neatly inside the covered object.

"Damn thing will weigh a ton," she mused. "It's a wonder how those waiters do it…"

Hotch kept his water glass, and continued refilling it. His eyes were clear now, the fog having been replaced with a veil of concern and worry.

What Chase had said was true—of all the people unwillingly involved in this 'operation,' only he and Garcia seemed to be different. And she hadn't been far off either when she'd said that he felt the same way about _all_ of his agents. Still, Chase's observation kept running through his head.

"Why us?" he heard himself say, though softly.

"Hmm?" Chase asked.

"You're right. Aside from the fact that we work together, there's really no connection between Garcia and myself," Hotch reasoned. "So why would a group that seems to prefer using emotional blackmail think that leveraging either one of us on the other would work?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Chase said. "Whenever we need some deep insight into a person, I just usually call one of you guys."

Hotch began racking his brain for any clue that might bring him closer to an answer. He remembered the time Garcia had been shot; she'd had to admit later that the secondary password and extra firewalls was her safeguard against any of the team's personal information. How had Morgan and Reid put it?

"_She said that since that thing with Elle, the shooting, she's put all of our stuff under extra encryption. Says that she's not letting the bad guys get to us through her…"_

That part made sense. He also recalled how Garcia had continued to stall job transfers and paperwork long enough for both himself and Emily to 'come to their senses,' as she'd put it later.

"_Who else could do this job better, sir?" _she'd said once they'd gotten back from Milwaukee. _"Couldn't have you both figuring that out once it was too late…"_

He thought about Garcia's insistence on the point. _It's as if she were trying to keep a family together,_ Hotch realized. He knew about her parents, and that though she had four brothers, they all lived scattered across most of the Pacific Coast. One of them even lived in Osaka, Japan—some buyer for a large corporation there.

_In her mind, we're her family, _he suddenly realized What he didn't realize what that he's been speaking aloud as well.

"What's that?" Chase asked, her eyes looking up suddenly from the design she'd been tracing into the table top.

"Family—that's the key," Hotch said. He quickly lined up the evidence.

"Well, that's something," Chase said. "But it doesn't explain _you._"

"How so?"

"Well, to be honest, you're not exactly the most outgoing or personable guy in the batch," Chase said. "In fact, most of my people at the college wondered if they'd suddenly joined boot camp…"

Hotch grimaced a little. How many times had Morgan said the same thing?

"…but, I know different," Chase finished. "It just takes you a little time to grow on people, I guess. In any case, you'd think these people would have gone for the obvious—your son, perhaps, or even your ex-wife…"

"How did you…"

"I told you, not too much I don't know. All about emotions, well, that's another story."

"Still, it doesn't make sense…"

Chase shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

* * *

In the screen room, two men carefully surveyed the actions going on in all of the 'color rooms'. Most of them were empty, their inhabitants having been put to work on their various projects. The last screen, though, the ones in the blue room, were patiently waiting for something.

A silver tray still lay on the far end of their table, just waiting to be picked up.

"What do you suppose those two are here for?" one of the man wondered aloud. "Don't seem like much, do they?"

"Who knows?" the other man said, his face showing his slight interest but lack of caring. "Maybe they're the ones who have to put everything all together…or maybe test subjects…"

"Eh, all in time, right?" the first man said. "I'll have someone go in and get that tray—boss says not to leave things in that room very long…"

"Wonder why?" the second man said.

"Who knows," the first man said, picking up a cream-colored handset from the wall. "Hey, over in the blue room, there's a tray—and be careful," the man added, an extra precaution. "Those two are high priority…"

* * *

Chase hefted one of the porcelain plates in her hand. It would suffice to knock a man out, but the heavy object could really only do the trick right if she knew exactly where to hit—and could land the blow on the first try. She'd toyed with the forks—all plastic, all useless as a weapon. There had been no knives within about a thousand miles of the setup.

_No help there,_ she thought.

She then spied Hotch's coffee cup. Like the plates, it was made of porcelain, and was thinner than the plates by a long shot. Chase nonchalantly got up and walked over towards the small basin that was set deep inside wall of the tiny bathroom, looking as if she were hoping to get a glass of water. As she crossed the room, she was careful to 'accidentally' drop the cup near the bed, hopefully hiding the shards of porcelain from view. It still irked her that she hadn't been able to find the cameras she was certain were lining the walls.

Bending over to 'clean up' the mess, Chase deftly picked out the largest and sharpest fragment possible, quickly tucking it into the loose pocket of her capris. At first glance, it was impossible to tell anything was missing.

Seconds later, the familiar _whooshing _sound coursed through Chase's ears.

"Step away from the glass, miss," a voice said. "We'll clean that up."

"It's all right, boys," Chase said lightly, though she did rise from her position on the floor. "Lord knows I've broken more than my share of dishes…"

"Back away, Miss," the voice said again, leaving no room for argument. Tipping her head in what looked like submission, Chase backed slowly towards the silver tray, which had been 'shoved' just near to its tipping point on the table. Beside the table, Hotch stood, guarded by a lone man who looked like he meant business.

Chase backed into the tray, causing all of its contents to crash into the floor. An array of plastic, porcelain, and metal collided, creating an even bigger mess than the coffee cup had made near the bed.

"Stand back!" the man shouted, their weapons now trained on the room's inhabitants. Carefully, the man guarding Hotch crept over to the remnants of the tray, followed by the third man in the room.

Chase slid towards the wall, nearest the youngest of the three. In one deft move she had him by the throat, the stolen piece of cup wedged precariously near his throat.

"Now, boys, you're going to tell me how that door works," she said as the men realized what had happened.

"Not a chance," said the first man, who looked like he was reaching in his pocket for something.

"Ah, ah, ah," Chase said, pressing the fragment closer to her captive's neck. A drop of blood trickled out—a reaction to the crude blade being nicked slightly against the skin. "Agent Hotchner, if you would, please?"

Realizing there was no time to argue, Hotch pulled the small instrument out of the man's hand. It was a small white remote that held three buttons on it.

"Door?" Chase asked, looking at the remote's previous owner.

"It won't do any good, miss," the man said. "You won't get out of here."

"Well, we'll see about that. Now, door?" Chase's face told everyone in the room she had no qualms about killing the man she held if she had to.

"First button," the man said sullenly.

Hotch pointed the remote at the space where he was certain the door was. The familiar _whooshing_ sound greeted his ears as the mechanism unlocked to reveal an exit.

"No time like the present," Chase said, dragging her shield all the way to the door and stepping outside of it before pulling the blade from the man's throat. Shoving him inside the blue room, Hotch quickly pressed the button again, sealing the room off.

"What the hell was that?" he said, glaring at the young woman staring next to him.

"Just another day at the office," Chase said nonchalantly. "Come on, before they find us…"

* * *

In a large room, a man stared on at a large screen, watching the simple yet effective escape take place.

He turned to his compatriot, who immediately flipped a certain switch. A low sound filled the corridors, alerting the other employees of an escape.

"It won't be long," the compatriot said. "They'll be found."

"That's not what worries me, Patrick," said the first man, his voice as smooth and cultured as ever.

"Then what does, Arthur?"

"What worries me is that that girl will cause more damage than we can adequately fix in time. We're on a timetable now, Patrick—only a few more days until the operation is complete."

"True," said Patrick, running a hand through his thin shock of white hair. "We'll have to do something about her…"

"Him as well," said Arthur. "He's not as bold or impetuous as she is, but he's clever."

"Where are Mr. Parker and Miss Garcia now?"

"Working. Under extreme 'encouraging' and supervision, I might add."

"In the balcony room?"

"Yes."

Patrick picked up the phone handset again. "I want them found," he said coolly. "Once you have them, make sure the proper precautions are placed on them and have them taken to the balcony room. I want them to see what their little escape will truly cost…"


	17. Obvious Implications

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Kyle looked at the computer as if it was going to eat him. Truth be told, he kind of wished it would—then, at least, he wouldn't have to worry anymore about what on earth these people were going to do with him.

There was a sharp poke in his shoulder—the fourth such poke in the last ten minutes. A long finger jabbed angrily at the screen, and the face it belonged to was sullen.

Kyle stared back, his brilliant blue eyes flashing in anger. –You want it done faster, then let's have you give it a try,-- he signed.

The man shook his head. His hands went up in the traditional position for someone not knowing something.

_Terrific,_ Kyle thought. _These people go through all the trouble of kidnapping me __**on purpose**__, but only keep one person around who actually can __**understand**__ me when I talk. **Brilliant** work on their part…_

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Kyle turned and stared into the blinking face of the monitor. What was bothering him was that he was being forced to hack into _his own system,_ for Christ's sake!

_Why have me access my own system? _he thought.

Then he thought about what kinds of things he kept under lock and key in that system. All the records for the college. All the security feeds. Personnel records. His and Chase's _other_ personnel records. The case file on her godfather, dead now six years with no answers in sight.

Kyle pushed himself away from the computer in disgust. –"You gotta be kidding!"—he screamed as he signed.

The man who was breathing down his neck angrily shoved a piece of paper into Kyle's hand, and then shoved him back into the chair. The note read: _Do what you're told or she'll pay for it._

Kyle's brilliant eyes floated cautiously towards Garcia's frame, herself showing signs of being torn between doing what she was told or doing what was right. He suspected a part of her was leaving a trail of bread crumbs for her team to follow…

_And this is only the first 'part,' _he thought. _Apparently there's two more 'parts' to go…_

He felt his throat grow rawer as he let out what he hoped was a scream of frustration. The move led to a sudden pain in the back of his head, and the man behind him shaking his hand like it had hit something very hard.

Defeated, Kyle went back to getting into his own system. It took a while, especially to get near the files these people seemed to want.

Beside him, he caught a glimpse of Garcia breaking down in tears. Though he couldn't hear her, he was certain she was sobbing. Her face glistened as the light began refracting off the tear-tracks left on her cheeks.

Her head turned slightly, making her mouth difficult to see. The man who stood behind her shook his head slowly, and her eyes scrunched tightly shut—probably in shame. He knew that Garcia would rather die herself than let anything happen to anyone else—especially those she cared about.

Just then the lights flickered above them. The monitor in front of Kyle flashed three times, indicating a drain on power somewhere in this building. Kyle looked up at the lights waiting to see what might happen next.

--"Is it raining hard outside?"— he managed to ask.

"Don't worry about it," the man said behind him, coming forward to face him. "There's generators."

_Then why are the lights flashing? _Kyle wondered.

The monitor sprung back to life, as though nothing had happened. Once Kyle got through his security, the man handed him another note.

_Where's the files your friend keeps in there?_

A part of him wanted to just open up any random thing and tell him that those were the ones he was looking for, but the man behind him was too smart for that. He heaved another exasperated sigh as he deftly tapped on an icon that blended in with the system's background.

"Here," he managed to croak out. –What do you want?—

The man guarding Kyle studied a separate note that had been worn and faded, like it had been written a long, long time ago and was now coming back to light. A finger traced over the seemingly endless list of file names before settling on two of them.

A sharp jab towards the screen. The implication was obvious. Kyle clicked on the files, which had been among the first Chase had asked him to keep once she took him on as a full partner in her 'sideline.'

"_There's things in there I'm not proud of, Kyle," _she'd admitted to him when he'd asked her about them. _"Part of the reason I operate the way I do now…"_

He opened the file against his wishes, allowing the man behind him to peruse it. Kyle knew what the images in the file contained, and he'd just as soon not ever see them again.

A hand patted him on the shoulder. The man behind him was obviously pleased. Beside him, there was a small scuffle—he could see Garcia refusing to type, and the man standing guard over her growing more and more angry.

Kyle stomped his feet on the ground, hoping to catch Garcia's attention.

--What's wrong?— he asked, knowing she knew the signs.

She shook her head wildly, motioning towards the screen. The implication was obvious. _I can't do it._

He widened his eyes. _Do what?_

Her hands sat parallel to each other in a universal sign of defeat. She shook her head again. Her hands then moved slowly up and down, as if she were 'weighing' a pair of imaginary objects.

Kyle nodded. _She can't weigh the lives of her teammates over her own. I know what that's like…_

Suddenly the entire room plunged into darkness. Another pang at his throat told Kyle that he'd screamed again. Frantic, he began waving his hands wildly in front of him, looking for something solid to grab onto. A hand shot through the opaque black and grabbed onto him. A set of fingers reached down into the flat of his palm, and a few shapes were pressed into his hand.

_C-H_

_ A-H _

_G-O N-O-W_

He knew the first two letters, guessed on the second and the rest was obvious. He grasped the hand firmly, allowing it to lead him out of this nightmarish hellhole.

Not more than ten steps from the terminal, another hand grabbed hold of his shoulder firmly, grasping as if its life depended on it. Kyle froze, not knowing who this hand might belong to. Was it a friend, or someone else he hadn't yet met?

A tug-of-war ensued, with Kyle's hand and arm being pulled one way and his shoulder and waist being pulled another. Kyle knew at this point he was screaming, but he wasn't sure if any one could hear him. For all he knew, there were sirens or alarms going off that he couldn't hear. With his stage of deafness, the only thing he could really hear was quite probably something like the Manhattan Project blowing up in the next room—and then only if it was large enough.

Finally, the hands grasping his shoulder and waist won out, jerking Kyle backward suddenly—so suddenly that he fell to the floor in a heap. He quickly felt around him to see what he might be next to, if anything. Without any warning, a cloth found its way around his eyes, and his hands were collected behind him and bound with a cord. Kyle thrashed wildly, hoping to fight off the person doing this to him.

"What have I done?!" he cried out. "What have I done?!"

If anyone heard him, Kyle couldn't tell. All around him the world was blacker than night, and he felt himself being lifted off of the ground and literally carried out of the room. A pair of hands grasped on to his thin frame, refusing to let go; these, however, were wrenched off as quickly as they'd attached themselves and shoved aside.

"Chase? _Chase!_"

The fuzzy voice trailed as it was carried out of the room.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Kyle, a figure was being held back from the struggling young man, unable to sign in his hand or reassure him that everything would be okay.

"Bastards!" she cried out. "Where are they taking him?! _Where?!_"

"You had your chance, Miss Davis," a voice said. "Now he will have to pay for your crimes."

Beneath the thick cover of blackness, a face blanched. "No," she said, her voice merely a whisper. "No, please…"

"It's too late," the voice said.

"No!" she screamed, struggling with all her might against what felt like four men holding her to the spot where she stood.

"Oh, he won't die, Miss Davis," the voice reassured her. "We're not through with him just yet. But, if you would like him to continue to _stay _that way, I suggest you cooperate with us. _Fully._"

Beside her, there were sounds of scuffling and frightened sobs that pierced the blackness that surrounded everyone in the room.

"Nor, Agent Hotchner, will Miss Garcia suffer much. Unless, of course, you also continue be uncooperative."

Chase heard an angry snort. She knew from his reputation that Hotch wasn't much for ultimatums, but he also wasn't about to let these people start dictating his movements—neither his nor any of his people's. There were, however, several lives that hung in the balance.

"If you please," said the voice coldly, and before Chase could put up another fight she felt a sharp prick in her arm.

The rest was silence.


	18. The Airfield

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Reid carefully turned around the sharp corner of the airfield, minding the long chain-link fence with barbed wire set on top of it. Beside him, Oliver seethed in silence. The agent hadn't said more than ten words since the two had left the building, and it was plain to the profiler that he had more than just the welfare of his sister on his mind.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, trying to be cordial.

Oliver chuckled bitterly. "More like a hundred bucks, but okay," he said. "I don't like this. I don't like it at all."

"I kind of think that's the point, Oliver."

"No, not _that_ kind of thing," the agent said. "More like I don't like where this is leading. I'm no genius when it comes to reading people like you guys are, but something tells me that when this is all said and done a lot of people are going to be either hurt or running for their lives."

Reid thought about that a minute. "We know, or can surmise anyway, that these people are having something built for them, more than likely a chemical weapon of some kind. But what the target is…"

"Yeah," Oliver seconded. "That's the trick."

The black SUV pulled onto the airfield and slowly made the way towards the empty hangars. They passed number ten—the one they needed to stop at—at least twice before figuring out the numbering system.

Heaving a sigh, Oliver reached for the door latch. "Wish me luck?"

Reid tipped his head once. "Would you like me to come in with you?"

"Sure. Why not? No one said anything about being alone when I got this thing…"

Carefully, the two agents walked inside the large building, staring at the giagantic airplane that was busy being thoroughly inspected and prepped. A man in a navy-blue coverall caught sight of the two and walked over to them.

"Sorry, this is a restricted area," he said. "You'll have to leave."

Both Reid and Oliver pulled out their credentials. "I'm Oliver Lawrence," Oliver said to the man. "I need to know where I can find James Howell."

"Jimmy? Took off ten minutes ago for lunch. He's probably over on the back forty taking his time about it. What kind of trouble is he in? 'Cause I gotta tell you, something hasn't been right about him lately…"

"How so?" Reid asked.

"Real distant. More so than usual. Distracted a lot. Usually we can't shut him up—always got something to say or a story to tell. He acts like there's been something on his mind lately, and every so often I could swear he's literally looking over his shoulder."

"Has he told you why? Given some kind of explanation for the change?"

"Nah. Still, though, I imagine that's why you two are here."

"Um, 'the back forty'?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, right, right. Just up there past the end of the row, turn right, and it's just outside the airfield. Most everyone here goes up there to eat without having their eardrums blown out." The sound of a low-flying plane illustrated the point. It was all Oliver and Reid could do to cover their ears in time. "I hope whatever you're here about isn't serious. Jimmy might get on some of the guys' nerves—like I said, usually he doesn't shut up and he's got a temper—but he's decent."

The two agents thanked the man and climbed back into the SUV. As they began inching towards the edge of the field, they passed a long official-looking car that was headed towards the hangar they'd just left.

"You ever seen a car like that before?" Oliver asked. "I haven't."

"No," Reid said, pausing. He looked carefully at the back of the car as it passed, etching the license plate into memory. "I'll call it in. There he is over there."

"Here goes nothing," Oliver said. Climbing out of the car, he strode over to the cluster of trees in the open field. The sounds of planes coming and going were noticeable, but easily tuned out. The 'back forty' was far enough away that only a plane coming in directly overhead would cause a problem.

"You James Howell?" he asked, looking at the lone man sitting underneath the trees.

"Depends on who's asking," the man grunted. He took another bite of his sandwich, keeping one eye fixed on Oliver.

"Oliver Lawrence," he said, showing his credentials. "I was told you'd have something for me?"

"How do I know you're not with them?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Those bastards took my sister."

"They took mine too."

"Oh, Jesus."

"I've been saying that for almost two weeks, Mr. Howell."

James pulled a small envelope out of his coverall and handed it to Oliver. "I don't know what it is, but I can bet it's nothing good. Felt like a mouse that's been toyed with by the cat for too long now…I just want this over and done."

"Mr. Howell? Could I ask you a couple of questions?"

"Will it get my sister shot?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know. But I would assume if it does, it'll get _my_ sister shot, too."

"Then yeah. I mean, we both have a lot to lose, don't we?"

"We do." Oliver cleared his throat. "Um, we know that your sister specializes in government work—what kind of work does she do, exactly?"

"She's some sort of scientist for a big company—Dow or something, I think—chemistry, mostly. Susan doesn't talk about work much, but if I had to press, explosives would be kind of up her alley. She always did like mixing things together to see what might happen next…"

Oliver smiled. "That plane that you're working on…"

James shook his head. "Nope. That's top secret, that is. I'm surprised Bill let you anywhere _near_ that thing."

"Well, could you at least tell me if it's civilian or military?"

"Nope. Look, my life might be hung up right now, but I still have my integrity as far as work is concerned."

Oliver nodded. "I understand." He wiggled the small envelope in his hand. "Thanks."

"Thank _you,_ Agent Lawrence," the man said with relief. "Maybe now those bastards will let my sister go…"

Privately, Oliver didn't think so. To James he said, "Well, I hope so. For her sake _and _my sister's."

Turning on his heel, Oliver walked back to the SUV. "Reid?" he called out. "How'd it turn out with that car…"

The question went unanswered as he circled the SUV. Reid was lying in a heap next to the driver's side door, out cold. There was a nasty egg forming on the back of the profiler's head, and there were sheets of paper scattering in the wind nearby.

Oliver did his best to rouse him, taking nearly ten minutes. He called out for James to help, and the older man obliged by throwing what water he had on Reid. The shock of the water did what Oliver couldn't.

"Huh…what?" he mumbled. "Ow…" Reid gingerly touched the egg on his head, his palm staining with red as he did.

"The hell happened?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know," Reid replied. "One minute I was making a sketch of that car we saw come in, and the next…"

"Did you call in that license plate?"

"I tried, but no one picked up their phone. I wonder…"

"Me too," Oliver seconded. "Let's get back. I'll drive."

"That might be the best idea anyone's had in a while, son," James Howell said, helping Reid into the passenger seat. "Um, listen…you'll let me know if something happens to my sister?"

Oliver nodded slowly. "We will," he promised.


	19. Garcia's Message

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Is everybody's phone suddenly dead?!" Oliver shouted across the bullpen as he carefully led a still disoriented Reid towards Garcia's office. "Good thing he only got knocked out, and not shot or something…"

"Who got knocked out?" a voice called out, followed by the voice's head poking out from behind the doorframe. A pair of brown eyes furrowed in consternation as they took in the sight of Reid barely able to keep himself upright. "What the hell…? Reid!"

"What? Don't scream," Reid said softly, his eyes closed around the massive headache that had begun in the car on the way back and was only getting worse. He was privately glad he'd skipped lunch, not feeling too much like seeing a repeat of the meal in the bottom of a bucket.

"Who hit you?!"

"I have _no_ idea. Saw something interesting at the airfield, though--some sort of official-like car came up to the hangar we had to be at."

"Official-like?" That was Emily. "Official _how?_"

Reid rubbed the back of his head, wishing the headache would subside. "Plain, long, white, unmarked…the kind you know deep down just…isn't the standard car, you know?"

"He's right," seconded Oliver. "I mean, I've seen my share of bulletproof glass and whatnot, but that car was something else."

"Did you get the package you were supposed to?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, I did," Oliver said, suddenly remembering the small envelope. Carefully taking the parcel out of his pocket, he took a pocketknife and worked the edge of the envelope open.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Morgan said, raising his hands in front of him.

"What?"

"Shouldn't you worry about it blowing up?" Morgan asked.

"If these people were going to kill me at this point, they had a much better chance of doing it between the elevator this morning and the airfield an hour ago. Besides, isn't there a guy with bomb squad experience around here?"

Morgan had silently studied the tiny parcel before, while Oliver was reaching for his pocketknife. Though it didn't take much for someone to conceal a substance that was potentially hazardous or explosive, it still couldn't do much harm if all that was there was a 3 x 5' envelope. Besides that, the paper that made up the envelope was pretty translucent, and it was easy to see that there was a stiff card and some kind of hard plastic item inside.

After working the last inch of the edge open, Oliver peered inside. "Huh," he said as he dumped the contents of the small envelope onto the desk where he sat. A small flash drive and a 3 x 5' note card fell out.

"Hey, guys?" a voice called out from Garcia's office. "I think I've found something…"

The group made a beeline for the tiny room, with Oliver picking up the slack. Expectant eyes stared at the round, bespectacled man who was trying hard not to beam with pride.

"Seems Penelope got near a computer," Kevin said. "Look at this."

Kevin set a chain of images in motion, and the team watched as the screen jumped from Garcia's server to a maze of feeds to a single feed, showing a large black-and-white room. Inside the room were four people near a pair of monitors—two sitting at the terminals, two standing next to them.

"Garcia," Morgan said, heaving a sigh of relief.

"And Kyle Parker," said Emily, remembering the young man she'd met a few months back. "They look like they're okay…"

"What was she doing?" JJ asked. "Doesn't look like it was very good, whatever it was."

The team watched the feed, straining to pick up the audio. "Can you make this louder?" Oliver asked, desperate to learn more about these people that were locked away near his sister. If they could manage…

"I'm trying," Kevin cried, hastily skipping through several complicated programs. "It's just not that loud on the feed to begin with."

There was an audible hum on the feed as the lights in the room began to dim. The moment of dark was followed by a scream.

"That wasn't Garcia," Morgan said knowingly.

The scream was followed by a sob, again barely audible.

"_That's_ Garcia," Morgan fumed. The thought of these people hurting his best friend was more than he could stomach.

The lights on the screen rose back to full power, and the team focused on the sight of Kyle Parker having a 'disagreement' with the man standing behind him. They watched as Kyle leapt out of his chair, was shoved unceremoniously back into it and a note was handed to him.

"Why isn't the guy talking to him?" Oliver wondered.

"He's extremely hard-of-hearing," JJ explained. "To hear him tell it, he's about one step from full-blown profound deafness."

"Explains a few things," Oliver said.

"Like?" Rossi queried.

"Can we go back to that minute of dark?" Oliver asked. Kevin queued up the footage and played it again. The scream filled everyone's ears.

"Hear that?" Oliver said.

"Yeah," said Morgan. "We know it's not Garcia."

"No. I bet it's Kyle Parker, though."

"Makes sense, but why would he scream? Did someone hurt him?" Emily asked.

"Well, if you couldn't hear, and then suddenly you couldn't see…"

"Oh," Emily said, her brain finally registering what Oliver was getting at.

The team watched the footage immediately after the lights rose. Kyle was still seated in front of 'his' terminal, but he'd turned to face Garcia, who was now clearly crying. Morgan watched with interest as she raised her hands parallel to each other, like she was studying them.

Oliver saw it too, as well as the quick sign the young man on the screen had made before that. "He's asking her what's wrong," he said to the group, who was still staring at the screen. "She's more than likely telling him she can't do what she's being asked to do, for whatever reason."

"How did you know that?" Morgan asked.

"My mother was profoundly deaf," Oliver explained. "We spoke sign and English at home. Dad could hear."

Oliver leaned in and studied the movements of the two captives for a few more seconds, until the screen plunged into black again. This time, however, there was a few seconds before an image came back up, washed in a glowing green.

"I think they lost power in that room," Kevin explained. "The cameras are running on generators or backup of some kind, and they're equipped with night vision, which explains the green cast."

Now transfixed, the team strained to hear what was going on. There was shouting, and another scream—it sounded like it came from Kyle Parker—as well as the sound of Garcia's frightened sobs. There were loud footsteps, and a crash as Kyle fell to the floor. The team could see the ghostly image of the young man desperately searching for something in the dark, before being collected up by someone. A cloth was tied around his eyes, and his unintelligible screams began to grow louder, until they sounded like a normal tone to the unstrained ear.

"What's he saying?" Emily cried out. "Can anyone understand him?"

"Play it back," Oliver demanded. Kevin obliged, playing the clip back nearly a dozen times at the agent's request. Oliver closed his eyes as he tried to imagine himself standing in front of the young man, listening through the wailing siren that threatened to deafen everyone in the room.

"Ove I uhn? Ove I uhn…"

"_What have I done?_" JJ piped up.

Oliver's face brightened, though his eyes remained closed. "That's it," he cried. "_What have I done?_"

"Is he saying that because he's actually _done_ something?" Morgan wondered.

Rossi had been studying the motions on the screen with a keen interest. "I don't think so," he replied. "I think he's asking "what have I done?" to whoever's got him," he explained. "I don't think he knows why someone is doing this to him."

"No!" a small voice cried over the computer's speaker system. "No! Let go of me! Put me down!"

"Garcia, don't move!" a familiar voice called out from off screen.

"That's Hotch!" Morgan cried out.

"Well, we figured they had him," Emily said. "Now we're certain."

"Bastards!" another voice cried out on-screen. "Where are you taking him?! Where?!"

"Hey," a weak voice called from the back of the group. "Is that Chase?"

"Reid, I thought you were lying down in the conference room," JJ said in mock-admonishment. Just before Kevin had called them into the room, JJ had made certain to have him lay down to get some sleep—it was the only way to relieve his headache at this point. Privately, she worried he might have a concussion.

"It hurts too much," Reid admitted. "Might as well be working then, eh?"

"Go back to sleep," she said in a no-nonsense tone.

"Now," Emily seconded.

"Before I lock you in the room altogether," Morgan said. "Bad enough we're down two agents and two more that could be of help…"

"All right, all right, I'm going," Reid said. "That's still Chase's voice, though…I remember it from those late hands of euchre…"

Kevin resumed the video, having paused it during the interruption. The lights suddenly rose, illuminating the room on the screen with fluorescent light. To the left of the camera's range stood two figures that every one in the room knew well.

"Chase Davis," Oliver said, a seething look on his face.

"And Hotch," Emily said, her own face tight.

One of the men on the screen strode over to the two captives, who were held in place by no less than six armed guards. The man looked very much like a rich gentleman, with a double-breasted white suit and a red carnation in his lapel.

The gentleman said something, much too low for the camera's speakers to register. Whatever it was, it set Chase Davis off. Oliver wished he'd picked up his mother and Sarah's trick of lip-reading so that he could have a better understanding of what was going on.

The man said a few words to Hotch, who remained as stone-faced as ever. It wasn't much of a surprise to his colleagues, but Oliver was perplexed.

"I thought you all said he was fairly close to all of you..." Oliver remarked.

"He is, kind of," Morgan replied. "Why?"

"Well, it's just…"

"How can he look like a statue when he's just watched one of his own people get dragged off to God-knows where?" Rossi asked.

Oliver nodded.

"Son, I've known Aaron Hotchner a long time. Believe me, he's just that good at hiding his emotions, especially when he's up against an adversary," Rossi explained. "He's certainly not going to jeopardize anyone's life fi he can help it—not the Davis girl or Parker's, and certainly not Garcia's."

Four heads nodded in assent. They'd seen what Hotch was like when one of his people was being threatened.

"I'll take your word for it, I guess. Reading people is not really my thing; probably why I spend my days following leads and solving complex puzzles with spooks involved."

"Speaking of which, that would be why we quit answering the phone here," JJ said. "Your boss is looking for you, and how."

"Josh?"

"If that's Agent Hollenbeck, then yeah," the blonde replied. "Older guy, kind of an accent…"

"Old World kind of thing?"

JJ nodded.

"Yeah, that's Josh. I'll call him. Here," he said, handing Kevin the flash drive. "Might as well find out what's on that thing. Hopefully it'll lead us to where our people are…"

Emily picked up the letter that had come with the flash drive, all but forgotten as the video feed had come in. Scanning the small card, she stopped her breath short.

"Oliver?" she called after the retreating figure.

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna want to see this…"


	20. Images

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Kyle thrashed and struggled against the hands that held him high in the air. He tried kicking his legs out, hoping the grip on his ankles would slip, but they remained attached to him as firmly as ever. Kyle twisted his torso and shoulders this way and that, hoping to wriggle through the iron claws that held him above the floor, but they too remained solid.

"Where are you taking me?" he cried out, twisting his head to try and catch a glimpse of his surroundings. He figured his voice was probably all but intelligible at this point, but with his hands bound it was the only recourse he had. "What have I done?"

A sharp jerk on his shoulder warned him to fall silent. Kyle only called out louder.

"Where's Chase? Where's Garcia? What've you done with them?!"

Another jerk. Kyle realized his screams were only going to get him hurt, and would reveal nothing.

Finally, the young analyst fell limp, deciding that if he was to be carried out, he'd make it as hard as possible. Considering that he weighed nearly 180 pounds, at dead weight his load would be somewhat heavier for his assailants to carry. Though the party stopped to readjust, it seemed like these people could handle Kyle's weight fairly easily—whether he was helping or not.

Suddenly, after what seemed like an age, Kyle's weight shifted from his assailants' arms to his own feet, thrown sharply onto a concrete floor. The cloth dropped from around his eyes, allowing him to see a sliver of light just as a door of some kind hastily shut behind him. Instinctively, Kyle turned and raced to the point where the light had receded into darkness, finding a thick metal door where the light had once been. He pounded on the thick barrier a few times, but didn't know if anyone could hear him.

"Please, let me out," he called, knowing his voice was probably inaudible at worst and unintelligible at best at this point. "What have I done?"

The door never moved. The darkness continued to linger, like a nightmare run helter-skelter and out of control.

Kyle felt his breaths begin to quicken, and his heart begin to pound. _Calm down, _he told himself. _Calm down. They won't leave me here, not forever…_

_Will they?_

The thought of this room being the last thing he would see terrified Kyle even more.

_What did I do to deserve this?!_ he thought feverishly.

Carefully, the young man crept towards what he thought might be a wall. It surprised him to find that it was only four steps away from the door. Kyle then turned and measured one foot in front of the other, finding that the width of the 'room' was only ten steps. In all, Kyle found he had been imprisoned inside what he thought to be a 6 x 9 cell, with no light or window to be found.

_A dungeon,_ he thought. His breaths came quicker still. Even holding his hands up in front of his face, Kyle could barely make them out.

His knees hit a low-lying rock formation against the back wall—a 'shelf' of sorts that seemed to be made entirely of rock or concrete of some sort.

_What's this for? _Kyle wondered. _Is it a 'bed'? Or a 'table?' Or a 'chair'?_

He ran his hands over the flat surface, trying to determine if it was in fact suitable for sitting on. The rock and concrete was cool and damp to the touch, and there were drops of water lying in shallow crevices that ran along the 'edges' where the rock tried to flush against the wall.

A cold gust of wind blew over him, and he pulled the thin robe he still wore over himself tightly. Kyle turned his face upward to find that the air was coming from a vent that was much too high for him to reach—even on his tiptoes on the 'shelf' with his arm raised as far as it would go, all his fingers found was cold air blowing through them.

_Now what? _he thought, curling into a tight ball in a corner of the tiny space. _Do I just wait for them to kill me? _

_No, that can't be it. That man 'Zeck' said there were three 'parts' to the operation that Garcia and I were 'responsible' for. _

_Unless they've decided they don't 'need' me anymore…_

A prickly feeling began crawling up Kyle's arm, like little feet with tiny claws. Startled, Kyle began rapidly brushing himself off, hoping to dislodge whatever was crawling over him. His breath hitched a bit as he tried to figure out what it was.

_I've got to get out of here, _he thought determinedly, trying not to let his fear overwhelm him. It wasn't working.

_Chasie, what else have you got up your sleeve?_

* * *

In an overwhelmingly bright room, Chase sat bolted to a metal chair. Images of the film "Marathon Man" began to flash through her mind, seeing as it was a similar setup to what the crazy Nazi dentist had had in the movie. In her case, however, there were no implements of torture nearby--no dental drill, no scraping picks or other tools lining an extendable tray.

"What the hell is going on?" she called out. "I mean, if this is supposed to be torture or something, you're not very good at it. I might as well take a nap!"

"By all means," a voice said, floating into the room from behind her. "Lord knows you've been busy since early this morning. But I'm afraid if you fall asleep, you'll miss the show…"

Chase looked in front of her at the blinding white wall in front of her. She turned to find more of the same on either side of her. "Show?" she called out. "What show? Looks like the signal's busted to me…"

Suddenly the room fell into black, just as if she were inside a giant IMAX theater. A green image shone brightly off of the stark white walls, and various sounds filled her ears. "What the…?" she wondered, trying to figure out what it was she was seeing. Then she realized.

"Where is he?" she shouted over the amplified screams that came out of the speakers.

"Perfectly fine, Miss Davis," the cultured voice said. Chase wished with every fiber of her being to be able to punch that mouth square in the jaw.

"Perfectly fine, my ass," she retorted. "What are they doing to him?"

"I can assure you, he's not hurt. See for yourself."

Cautiously, Chase focused her attention towards the walls again. The green cast grew a little brighter, revealing a tiny space that Kyle had been dumped inside of. The blindfold was quickly removed, and the door slammed shut even before he could turn around. Her heart broke as she heard him pounding on the metal door, screaming something.

"Why is he screaming?" she demanded. "What are you doing to him?"

"Absolutely nothing. As you can see, he's completely alone."

_But he's still screaming, _Chase thought. Then it hit her. The green cast was because the 'room' that Kyle had been locked inside was completely dark. There was not a sliver of light to be found anywhere.

"Please, let him out of there," she said, turning to try and face the man who stood behind her. "Don't…don't leave him there. He doesn't deserve that…"

"Deserve what?"

"The dark. Don't… don't leave him in the dark." Chase could feel her anxiety rise with each passing moment and each glimpse of the image of Kyle trying to figure out what the hell was going on. "Please, take it out on me…"

"But that defeats the purpose, Miss Davis. You decided to test our patience, and 'skip out'—I believe that _is_ the term—on your part of the operation."

"_What _'operation'?" Chase cried. "All I know is that _you_ decided in your _infinite_ genius to kidnap someone I care very much about, and then have the audacity to wonder why the hell I'm not cooperating! Speaking of which, just exactly what did you threaten Oliver Lawrence with? Or the other people whose loved ones you've got locked up in here?"

"Hmm." The voice behind her seemed impressed. "It truly is a wonder, Miss Davis. When I heard you were the best, I thought that my contacts were surely joking. Yet here you are, under severe odds, and you _still_ managed to figure things out that far…remarkable. Truly remarkable."

"I'm happy you're happy," Chase said, the sarcasm evident. "But what has this got to do with Kyle and me? Or, for that matter, Agents Hotchner and Garcia? I'm sure they're being looked for as we speak."

"Oh, no doubt. In fact, I hope they are. Makes things much easier for us."

The young woman tried hard to hide the curiosity that brimmed within her. "Really."

"You haven't figured it just yet, have you?"

"Give me a minute."

"That spark," the man said in awe. "Irrepressible, even with what you've seen…and _done…_"

Chase didn't like where this was heading. "Either tell me what the hell you want me to do, or just shoot me in the head and let's get on with it."

"And leave your friends to what would be a very uncertain fate? Hardly your style…"

"What's it to you?"

"Everything," the man said.

"Who the hell _are_ you people?"

"In time, Miss Davis. For now, I think we'll use the name your friend Mr. Parker's given me—'Zeck,' I believe it is."

"Do I have you to thank for the flowers this morning?"

"Ah, the orchids. You liked the arrangement, I trust?"

_I would've liked 'em better if they'd been Gerbera daisies, _Chase thought. To 'Zeck,' she said, "Yes. Of course. Still, not every girl goes for black orchids…"

"I thought they seemed appropriate. Your friend said you'd like them."

_Yeah, but he was sending me a code. _"They were nice."

The green-cast walls now showed a life-size image of Kyle sitting huddled in a corner, pulling his knees inside the thin robe he'd been wearing when she'd found him in that marble room. The image suddenly began twitching and dusting himself off frantically, and Chase saw the horde of little creatures that were scuttling about in that dark space.

"What do you want from us?" she asked softly. Chase realized that Hotch was probably in a similar room to this one, watching those he cared about suffer—or at least, images of them suffering, anyway. How real these images were was anyone's guess.

"It's very simple, Miss Davis. When the time comes, I want you and Agent Hotchner to follow directions."

"And those 'directions' would have us do….what, exactly?"

'Zeck' finally stepped around from behind her and looked her in the eye, his cold grey ones matching her bright green ones. The man looked like a sadistic grandfather standing in a neat suit.

"My sources tell us both you and Agent Hotchner are excellent shots…"

An image from the past swam to the surface of her mind—one of a little boy being held up by his father, a man who had been willing to let a five-year old pay the ultimate price for his own crimes. The image of that child, first laughing, then terrified, then struggling in his father's grasp as the man held him up like a shield…

"No," she breathed. "I won't do it."

"Then you leave me no choice." 'Zeck' reached for a small device in his pocket, pressing a button. "Please send Mr. Parker into Phase Two," he said.

"What's that?" Chase called out. Five minutes later, she saw the result first hand. The green-cast image of Kyle was screaming, as gallons of water poured from the ceiling. Kyle was trying to escape the slowly rising water as best he could, but he was thoroughly soaked to the core.

"You'll kill him!" Chase screamed.

"Either him or our target," 'Zeck' replied. "Your choice."

Chase struggled against her bonds. They didn't budge. The image on the walls cried out louder, the voice sounding like a bassoon that was badly rusted and out of tune.

"What will it be, Miss Davis?"

Chase closed her eyes and took a breath. It really wasn't a choice at all.

"I'll do it," she whispered. "Just let him go."

The image of water vanished. The water on the wall-screens had only risen to Kyle's waist. Chase watched as her best friend and partner stood terrified in the dark, cramped room, afraid to even move. Suddenly, the water began to recede into the floor.

_What have I done?_ Chase thought.

* * *

In the dungeon, Kyle felt the water slowly recede. His bare feet ran over an uncovered drain in the tiny floor that had instantly appeared. He curled even tighter into the corner, now afraid to even breathe.

_Why are these people trying to kill me?_ he wondered. _What have they done with Chase? And Garcia?_

Though he was merely a friend of Garcia's, there was a part of Kyle that still felt responsible for her. It was a part of his upbringing—'take care of those you care about, especially women.' He'd learned a long time ago that it was what made Chase tick, and he'd learned the lesson from his own parents.

_This is probably because of Chase,_ he rationalized. He remembered the files that the 'attendant' behind him wanted to see.

_What are they making you do, Chasie?_ Kyle wondered as he sat curled on the stone 'shelf', the images from that file still lingering in his mind.

* * *

**A/N: I'll be away from the computer this weekend, so enjoy the chap and look for a new one come Monday!**


	21. Catch Me If You Can

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

It hurt to stand.

It hurt to roll over on his side.

It hurt to open his eyes.

It hurt to _think_.

Reid had laid down again in the conference room, trying desperately not to focus on the pounding that was radiating from the fist-sized egg on back of his head. His mind, however, was hard at work.

_Why didn't I hear them coming? _ Reid thought. _There was no one nearby for over a dozen yards—only Oliver and that Howell guy over by those trees—and the soft shoulder they'd parked on should have given some warning through the footsteps in the sand and gravel…_

Then he remembered. There had been one plane that had passed near where he had been standing—it had made the phone call from his cell difficult to hear. Though no one had picked up, Reid's mind recollected how it had been a challenge just to make out the dial tone.

There was something else too. A voice, just as the plane sound was dissipating. It said something shortly before he'd been hit in the head, but it had gotten lost in the shuffle.

_What did it say? Something… 'clever' something something 'Oliver.' Did the person think that I was Oliver? Or was it a deliberate action on their part, and not just someone lashing out?_

It was the voice, though, that Reid remembered. The voice had been cold, hard, clipped—there'd been a bit of an accent to it, but not one Reid could place. He knew if he heard the voice again, he'd recognize it.

His stomach began to churn, a result of the relentless headache. Reid finally got up and walked over to Hotch's office—the only one with a sofa—and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

"Oh-lee-vair, you 'ave not been ahnswering your mo-bile. Is thair sometheeing wrong, pairhaps?"

Oliver couldn't tell him. Of all the people he never wanted to disappoint, Joshua Hollenbeck was one of them. He'd given the young man his start at the bureau, taking an interest in Oliver over dozens of older, better qualified agents out of his class that wanted the position in counterterrorism. Josh was notorious for seeing value where others didn't, and though he'd been young, he chose Oliver to come to work for him. Oliver was determined not to drag his mentor into this mess any further than he had to.

"No," he replied. "Just working on another angle, is all."

"Ahnother angle? Eenteresting. Come, sit. Tell me." Josh waved his stout hand towards an overstuffed chair.

Oliver sat. "You do know I was downstairs, on ten, right?"

"Yess. That man, 'otchnair, he works there. You found somtheeing important, yes?"

"Yeah. But so does another woman—Penelope Garcia. You heard of her?"

"Gahrcia…" The older man's round face furrowed deep into thought. He closed his eyes, a sign to Oliver he was trying hard to access some random image or bit of information locked away in that brilliant mind of Josh's. "Em, no. Should I?"

"Well, she's the technical analyst for Hotchner's team. And last night, she went missing too."

"You theenk there is a connection, Oh-lee-vair?"

"I do." Looking outside the shaded window, Oliver rose and closed the office door. He sat back down, biting his lip. "I think there's more to this than what we're being shown, Josh. A lot more."

"You do not behlive that this man has…'gone bairserk,' the phrase is?"

"No. In fact, I think he's being set up."

"Eenteresting. Theory, ohr supposition?"

"Theory. But backed. I know people can be led to believe in someone or something—you drilled that pretty well—but, I've seen this guy's files, talked with his agents, and it's all pointing to the same thing--no way would this guy Hotchner do the things we're suspecting him of."

"You say the eveedence is not sound?"

"Do you think so, Josh?"

Another furrowed look. "There wass information in his 'ouse…things even one like him should not know…"

"What kind of information?"

Oliver could feel Josh giving him the once-over. He knew that look well—he was trying to determine if now was the right time to let him in with the bit of information he held. Oliver had seen the look over a thousand times if he'd seen it once.

"This woman, Gahrcia, what do you know about her?" the older man asked.

"Just what her files and her people tell me," Oliver admitted. "Apparently she got the job here under some strange circumstances, but she's been nothing but upfront and an asset to her department and her team since she started working on ten in 2004. Her colleagues say she's incapable of harming even an insect, unless it's biting her."

"Eenteresting." Josh held his gaze a moment. "There is sometheeng you air not telling me, Oh-lee-vair."

"You're not being all that forthcoming yourself, Josh." Oliver tipped his head. "I know you," he added with a small smile.

"True. You do. And you air right, I am not."

"Hmm."

"Well."

Oliver bit his lip in thought.

"Come, come. This is us, yess? Out thair, people lie. We know this. In here, perhaps, not so much."

Oliver smiled. That was at least true—Josh usually caught a lie before most people had time to make one up. Privately, he wondered sometimes what it was Josh had done before moving to the States some thirty-five years ago to make him as good at what he did as he was.

"Some information the others out there don't know, and hopefully won't learn right away, Josh?"

"Of course. Unless you air the one rehsponsible?"

"No, of course not."

"Then…?"

"There's more people missing, Josh. A lot more. Just like Hotchner and Garcia, and all of them are of their caliber in what they do."

"I do not understand, this 'calibair.' Surely you air not suggesting they all shoot…?"

"They're all very, very good at what they do."

"Ah. The language in this country…still I do not know all of it." Josh smiled.

Oliver reciprocated the smile. "There are now eight people missing, Josh."

"Eight?!"

"Yeah. That's what I've been working on downstairs, with Hotchner and Garcia's people. They're better than good, by the way…"

"I have heard this." Josh smiled again. "Good. What else did you leairn?"

Oliver sank deeper into the chair. "That counterterrorism should be working this case, but we're working the wrong angle. Someone else is up to something, Josh—something larger than one or two people." Looking out towards the window again, he said, "I'm not sure I can trust them this time."

"But you trust me? Oh-lee-vair, what is it?"

"I'd have to show you to explain. Would you mind taking a walk dowstairs?"

Josh smiled. "Ten?"

"Yeah, ten."

"The elevator is still working, yess?"

Oliver remembered what had happened in the elevator earlier that morning, and was loathe to go back inside of it. "It's still working," he replied.

"Then come. We will go."

Josh lifted his considerable weight from his specially designed chair, overstuffed in all the right places and built for back support. He took slow strides towards the elevator, and climbed inside, pushing the button for ten. Oliver followed, just beating the elevator doors closed.

* * *

In the bullpen outside of Josh's office, a thin figure scowled. Hunched over a computer, he tapped a few keys on his keyboard and revealed a four-split screen of the bullpen on ten, its images filling with the sights of profilers going about their work.

_He's getting closer,_ the thin figure thought. _After I hand-picked him to fall neatly into this mess, he's still finding a way out of it. _

On the screen, the image of Josh Hollenbeck and Oliver Lawrence appeared, disembarking from the elevator car and walking through the frosted glass doors of the BAU offices.

A slender hand flipped open a phone. "He's getting closer," the thin figure said, keeping the tone of voice low. "He's not behaving like he should be…"

There were a few nods, followed by tones of assent. "All right. I hope this works."

Pulling up a file from the computer, the thin figure tapped a few more keys and encrypted it using the formula that had just been told to him. An image of Oliver Lawrence dissipated into unreadable code, along with some 'interesting' information.

_And when it's all over, the spoils will be great,_ the thin figure thought. _He'll have no one to blame but himself…and his sister, dear girl. Too bad she's not one of 'us' by choice…her skill really is remarkable…_

* * *

Reid woke to find a rather large man sitting in Hotch's office. He winced, the egg on his head still throbbing. "Can…can I help you?" he asked, trying to open his eyes.

"Lie still," a strange voice said. It had a noticeable accent to it. "You look as if you need a doctor…"

"I'm fine," Reid replied. "Who-who are you?"

A slight chuckle. "Joshua Hollenbeck," the voice said. Reid dared to open his eyes more than a sliver to find that the large man had polished brown eyes. The orbs twinkled a little. "Oh-lee-vair says you and your colleagues 'ave helped him with this…predicament, is the word?"

"Yeah. Where did you say you were from, again?"

"Fourteen. Counterterrorism."

"Oh. You're the people investigating my boss."

"Should we be?"

Reid frowned. "Looking into his kidnapping, yes. Looking at him as a terrorism suspect, no, certainly not."

"But you air close to this man, yess?"

"Close as one gets to their boss, yes."

"Then, tell me. Why would all of this point towards him?"

"What did your people find at his house?"

Reid felt the large man give him the once-over. How many times had he himself done that very thing today? "There were pieces lying about that were of eenterest to us," the man said finally.

"Yeah, a rifle case and some files. What were the files?"

"What ees your name?"

Reid told him.

"Very well, doctor, then tell me thees," Josh said. "Why would a profiler care very much about several diplomats that air coming in from Eastern Europe and the Balkans? You air working a case involving such things, pairhaps?"

_Diplomats? _Reid thought. _Why would someone go to all the trouble to set up an elaborate scheme just to kill a couple of diplomats?_

"No, we're not," Reid admitted. "Diplomats, you say?"

"Yess. From Estonia, Russia, Georgia, and the Ukraine. Also there wass a file on one from mainland China. You have ideas as to why these files would be in your superior's possession?"

Reid shook his head slightly, wincing in pain as he did.

"You do not look well, doctor. Pairhaps you should be looked after…?"

"I'm fine," Reid said shortly. His mind, however, was working overtime.

_Diplomats…_

* * *

In Garcia's office, Oliver looked extremely worried. "I'd trust Josh with my life, and have several times," he said, staring Kevin, Morgan and Emily in the eyes. "I don't know yet what the hell's going on, but if you want an answer, Josh is the best."

"Well, you left before looking at this," Emily said, handing Oliver the letter that had been enclosed with the flash drive Kevin was now scanning.

Oliver read the short note: _Now see what you've done._

"I'm…not following," he admitted. Oliver slumped against the wall of the office, feeling like he was a blind rat caught in a maze.

"We didn't either," Morgan said. "Thought it was something that you'd know…"

"Not a clue. Though, I have to say, I've done a lot today that I didn't think I could…"

Suddenly the entire room fell dark. The darkness spread to the center of the bullpen, the outside hall, the elevator, and down through the stairwells to the adjacent floors.

"What the hell just happened?" Morgan cried, leaping out of his seat.

Emily picked up the phone she knew was near Garcia's seat. "Phone's dead," she replied, setting the handset back into the cradle.

"Oh-lee-vair!" a heavily accented voice called out.

"This isn't weather-related, is it?" Emily asked.

Oliver shook his head. "Storm cleared out nearly four hours ago," he said. "When Reid and I went to talk to Howell at four o'clock, the sun was shining."

"So…what, then? This can't be an accident…"

Oliver realized he was absently turning the small note card in his hands. "Now see what you've done," he said softly.

"What?" Kevin cried, his hands frantically trying to find their way in the dark.

"Now see what you've done," Oliver repeated. He quickly ran his fingers across Garcia's computers, seizing the flash drive and yanking it out.

There was a slow cast that came over the computer the drive was pulled from. It sparked to life, and then lit up like a lighthouse beacon in a sea of black.

Four pairs of eyes stared intently as the screen began typing something onto itself.

_Too late. Catch us if you can…_


	22. The Terminal Directives

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1. **

* * *

"Ah. Perfect," Patrick said inside the screen room. "It seems our friend Oliver managed to scan that drive we sent him. Too bad it was designed to knock out all power and communications for the entire building where the drive was introduced."

"Don't gloat, Patrick," Arthur said warningly. "You've managed to knock out one building—not an entire city."

"Yes, very true. But still, think about it, cousin—with more of those devices, we could control so much. Or didn't I mention that the outage is completely controlled by us?"

"Really?"

"Yes, Arthur. Right now the building at Quantico is completely within our control—the lights, the phone lines, the computer systems, everything."

Arthur's eyes lit up. "A perfect way to deposit information…"

"Exactly," Patrick agreed. "I think Miss Garcia will be most helpful now, don't you agree?"

"Quite."

* * *

Garcia was lying curled up on one of the large white linen-dressed beds inside the room she'd been in during much of this ordeal. After the blackout in the marble-walled computer room, she'd been dragged back to this miserable place, all with the knowledge that an escape had been so close at hand.

She knew she'd heard Hotch telling her to stay put. Not long after that, no less than three pairs of hands forced her out of the room, winding the black cloth over her eyes and frog-marching her all the while.

The knowledge that something horrible was happening to Kyle bothered her even more. Garcia remembered his screams as they dragged him out another door—long, plaintive, desperate cries that were trying to make sense of what had been going on.

_What on earth do they want?_ she thought miserably. Her hands clutched the fluffy bedcovers, wishing they were a baseball bat or even a cast-iron pan. _All they had me do was get into my own system, and anyone could do that, really…_

Just then there was a familiar _whooshing_ sound, signaling someone coming in. Garcia quickly picked her head up from the pillow she'd been laying on, hoping that these awful people were bringing Kyle back.

"Miss Garcia," a voice said. It was one that made Garcia's skin crawl.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice hovering somewhere between snappish and terrified.

"I would very much like you to come and finish your work. We were, em, somewhat distracted earlier…"

Garcia glared at the man standing before her, still looking dapper as ever. "Who _are_ you people?" she asked, not really expecting a straight answer.

"Merely individuals looking for change," the man said.

"And what do you need all of us for?"

"Why, to set that change in motion. Honestly, Miss Garcia, do you really think one person is capable of changing society all by themselves?"

"Is that what you call it? 'Changing society'?"

"When we're finished, yes, I would say that that term would describe what we've done here nicely. Why, what would you call it?"

Garcia thought a long moment. She knew _exactly _what she'd call it, but then again, she didn't want to be hauled off to God-knows-where to have God-knows-what done to her…

"Where's Kyle?" she asked instead. "What did you do with him?"

The man studied her a moment. He then tipped his head slightly. "Mr. Parker was needed to teach a lesson to one of our other 'guests," the man replied simply.

"Chase Davis."

"You recognized the voice."

"Hard not to."

"Yes, given your relationship with the young woman, I can understand that…"

Privately, Garcia doubted he could very much. Instead she asked, "What are you going to make me do?"

"I would hope very seriously that we would not have to 'make' you do anything, Miss Garcia. However, we would _ask_ that you come out and finish the work you've started. It shouldn't take very long…"

"And then what? You'll just let me walk right out of here?"

"Something like that, but not for a few more days. More of a precaution on our part than anything else."

_Which means they've got something else up their sleeves. Kyle was right._

"And Kyle? Chase Davis? Agent Hotchner?"

The man gave her the once-over, as if he were trying to determine whether her motives were genuine or not. "Of course, they will need to finish up their parts, but yes, they will leave with you."

Garcia didn't know whether to believe this man or not. Considering the security and their actions when Chase and Hotch had tried to get them out of there, she knew that there was something else that she wasn't being told.

_If I get in front of a computer, though, I can maybe lead the rest straight to us, instead of the other way around._

Slowly, she rose off from the bed, allowing herself to be blindfolded and led towards yet another unknown room.

* * *

In the blue room, Chase paced. Her mind swam with the images of Kyle being tortured and nearly drowned inside that tiny stone closet. She knew what was being asked of her, and she would do anything g she could to prevent herself from having to do it, but she couldn't risk Kyle's life in the process. She simply couldn't.

_Why me? _she wondered incessantly. _Why not just hire some mercenary or soldier-of-fortune who'll do the job gladly for a song? Why does it have to be me who kills this person—whoever they are?_

The question rolled over and over in her head. She was so lost in thought she barely noticed the _whooshing_ sound of the door opening. A loud _thud_ rang in her ears, and Chase turned to see a very tall figure lying haphazardly on the ground.

"Agent Hotchner?" Chase asked, hurrying toward the form sprawled out on the cold tile.

Hotch slowly came to, picking himself up slowly and dusting himself off. The look on his face looked as if it could melt lead, were there any around to actually melt.

"Come on," Chase said softly, trying to take his mind off the figures that had tossed him in the room like a discarded file. "What'd they tell you?"

"Nothing."

"Not nothing. You lot are all alike, it seems."

"Our 'lot'?"

"Only words that ever come out of Reid or Garcia or JJ's mouth when they look like you do is 'I'm fine.' I've learned that it's like waving a hand carelessly when I'm at work—the sign language version of 'it's nothing.' And you lot only say it when you are most certainly _not _'fine.'" Chase sat at the table, kicking a chair towards Hotch, who sat in it. "What'd they tell you?"

"Nothing. That's just it. Since I woke up in this place I've been walking around like I'm being led by the hand, and when things are starting to fall into place, something happens and…"

"Nothing makes sense," Chase finished. "Well, let's put it this way, then—what are they having _you _do?"

Hotch remained silent. He thought hard about what he'd been 'asked' to do, and he knew there was no way he would do it if he could help it.

"They ask you to kill someone too?"

Hotch looked at Chase, whose face had fallen considerably. She looked rather morose, and determined not to follow through with her 'directive.'

"How did…"

"I know that look. I wore it myself for many a day, when I first got into this game," Chase replied. "Used to be I wasn't all that picky about what kinds of jobs I took. I am now."

Hotch's eyes softened a little. There was a story here, he knew it.

"Eight months in, I took work from the CIA. Some foreign national who was heavy into all kinds of bad news was staying in Delaware, causing all sorts of grief. The Agency tried everything to get the guy deported, or sent back to wherever-it-was he came from, you name it. Nothing worked. The decision was made to 'eliminate' the guy, and they had to do it quietly."

"Because the CIA can't work operations domestically," Hotch said.

"Yep."

"And they hired you?"

"Well, I was a hell of a shot. Still am."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven. I've been doing this kind of work for eight years."

"You were nineteen?"

"And just as stupid on some levels as the average nineteen-year old. I took the job, took a month to prepare for it, and was lying in wait on top of a roof just near the Atlantic, waiting for this guy to go by. It was just before twilight—best time to use the sun as a cover—and there he goes, walking along like he owns the place. What I didn't count on was that that particular day he'd brought along his five-year old son—they'd made a day of it, I guess."

Hotch stared at the young woman in front of him. He had a feeling he knew how this story ended, but still had to know. "You couldn't take the shot?"

"Oh, I took it. I took it, and missed. The little boy is crying by then, 'cause his dad's got him by the waist, lifted up off the ground, right in front of the old man. I had to take the shot at that point." She stared straight into Hotch's eyes. "I _had _to."

Hotch nodded. He understood.

"After that, I went home, threw up about eight times, contemplated suicide, and finally made a decision. I walked into the Agency, told them their contract was filled, and that they could shop elsewhere for a hit. I was sticking to information only, and if they didn't like it they could do the job themselves. Since they need some domestic intelligence work done now and again, they still call me, but not nearly as often as you guys at the FBI or the other alphabet soup organizations. My private contracts are even better than the Agency's work, and I enjoy it more. People who do _that_ sort of work regularly, for profit no less—I have to believe that there's a large part of them that's dead already," Chase said. "How else could someone just calmly take another person's life and then go out for breakfast later? Or sleep a full eight?"

"It's no small feat," Hotch agreed. He knew he'd had the same qualms when he worked SWAT, and when he taught his agents now he always reminded them that they really didn't need to carry if they didn't want to. "It's a lot easier when a person is going to kill you if you don't do it first, because it's a survival mechanism. You're not killing indiscriminately. It's also easier to take a shot if you plan to only wound a person, just enough to defuse a life-threatening situation. But taking a kill shot…"

"Sounds like you're talking from experience."

Hotch nodded, a single tip of the head.

"I kinda figured." Chase stared at the blue table top, her mind clearly elsewhere. "So what do they have over your head?"

Hotch looked out at the blue walls, his face hardening again. "My son," he said with a trace of bitterness in his voice. "And my team."

"They gave me an up-close-and-personal view of how Kyle would die," Chase admitted. "And it wasn't pleasant."

"What is it with you two, anyway?" the older agent asked.

"Simple, really. I've known him all my life. Our parents lived two houses down from each other. I was an only child, and so was he, and we kinda 'became' each other's sibling, I guess. When my parents died, I lived with Ben, but still, that never broke. It never even mattered that I could hear and he couldn't, because we both grew up in a deaf culture in a predominantly deaf town. After college, I took my day job and continued to work on the side, and Kyle came to me looking for work. I hired him, and it's been that way ever since."

"It's just…I've never seen a partnership quite like yours. And I've been at this a long time."

"I know. Longer than we've been living, Agent Hotchner."

Hotch let a tiny hint of a smile cross his face. The young woman's wit was irrepressible.

"Did they tell you who the unfortunate person would be?"

"Not yet."

Chase sighed. "Me either."

* * *

The marble room was back. So were the terminals that she and Kyle had vacated only an hour or so before. A young woman was sitting next to one of them—it was the girl Garcia had met during her bath.

"Hello," the girl said, her voice soft.

"Hey," Garcia said. She looked at the two 'attendants' standing behind the girl. "What's with the entourage?"

"I'm not allowed to touch the terminals. That's why you're here."

One of the men behind the girl cleared his throat. "Just do as you're told, miss," he said, his voice warm but distant.

Garcia seated herself at the terminal, her eyes flicking upward every so often. She didn't want a repeat of what had happened in this room earlier. After some prodding, she managed to access her system.

"Just type what we tell you, miss," the man said. "Miss Lawrence her will give you an algorithm for encryption."

"I could have done that myself," Garcia said. "It's part of the whole Garcia package…"

Though she could tell the men wanted to smile at that comment, they remained as stone-faced as ever. _Did they take lessons from Hotch? _she wondered idly, letting her mind wander a minute. She then thought of her boss, trapped in some section of this place, and began to worry.

The girl handed Garcia a piece of paper. It held a complicated algorithm on it. "Here," she said, her voice still soft. "My name's Sarah."

"Penelope. Call me Garcia."

"Miss Garcia," the man behind them said, a note of warning in his voice.

"All right, all right. Shoot. But not literally."

The man began rattling off reels of information, most of it foreign to Garcia's ears. She dutifully typed in each word that was spoken, but at the end of each sentence she tacked on a few of her own. Since all the information on the screen was encrypted, no one was the wiser. After about forty minutes, the man fell silent. Garcia stopped typing.

"Very good," he said. "Thank you."

"Can I see Kyle now? Or my boss?"

"Not quite yet," the man said. "But I'm certain Miss Lawrence would like some company…"

"Yes, please," Sarah said, her face brightening. "May I?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Very well then," the dapper man said. "Ladies, if you would follow me…"

After draping the black cloths across their eyes again, Garcia took Sarah's hand in hers and both allowed themselves to be led from the room.

_It's only a matter of time before the team find the message in that mess, _the blonde woman thought. _Then they can get on with the saving…_

* * *

It had been nearly an hour in the dark. Aside from the ominous message that had lingered on Garcia's main computer, there had been nothing. No power, no phones, no connections, no _nothing._ Even the backup generators had mysteriously fallen dead.

"What the hell was _in_ that thing?" Morgan wondered aloud.

"Some kind of virus program," Kevin said, blindly tapping on random keys. "Looks like it was meant to target all of our electrical systems, and once introduced into an outlet, it would work its way through the entire building. We're sitting ducks."

"But why target _this _building? I mean, wouldn't you want this sort of program to run berserk on, say, the White House? Or Wall Street?" JJ asked. She'd been running a lead that petered out, and by the time the lights had crashed she'd been just within the glass doors of the bullpen.

"Unless there's something specific to this building that they want blocked," Kevin reasoned. "Question is, what?"

Emily's face held a look of deep thought. She'd been pondering that very question since early this morning, since Chase appeared. "I don't think we're asking ourselves the right question," she said finally. "What if it's not what the building has, but _who_?"

"That's easy enough," Morgan said. "Us."

"Yeah, but think about it—of all of us here, who's missing?"

"Hotch and Garcia."

"And?"

"My sister," Oliver said.

"Kyle and Chase," JJ added.

"Those last three really have nothing to do with this place," Emily said. "Chase and Kyle are colleagues, but they work freelance. And your sister, Oliver, well…"

"Is just my sister," Oliver finished. "I know."

"Right. So, why this place?"

"Wait a minute," Morgan said, remembering something. "What did that card say?"

"It said 'now see what you've done,'" Oliver said. "Why?"

"Well, we put the flash drive in. Technically, wouldn't someone think _we_ put the virus in?"

"Yeah, they would," Kevin said. "This virus is proving to be a real piece of work—it even had a 'signature' to it, telling us who unleashed it. It would have, anyway, as all the systems in this place make a note of what gets run through and from where it comes from…"

"So someone's making it really obvious that someone here planted this thing," JJ said, trying to keep up.

"Not just someone," Emily said.

"Oh, my God," Oliver said. "It's me. These people are trying to frame _me_! But I…"

"You said it yourself—there's a lot of things you did today that you didn't think you could," Emily reminded him. "Kidnapping, for one…"

"Aiding and abetting," JJ said

"Computer hacking and malicious programming," Kevin added, his fingers still furiously typing.

"And who knows what else," Morgan added.

The sound of Oliver falling against the wall and sliding to the ground was unmistakable. "I'm ruined," he said. "Even if I manage to convince someone that I _wasn't_ responsible…"

"Hey, guys?" Kevin called out. "I think we need to get everyone in here…like, right now."

"Why?" four voices asked at once.

"Because you really have to see this…"


	23. Christian Hanover

**Two for Tuesday again. Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Christian Hanover carefully typed another set of codes into his laptop. He looked over at the empty desk that sat in front of him, string at the odds and ends that his partner had left in his haste to rush downstairs.

_Too bad, really,_ he thought, his mind going over his carefully laid-plans. _The last person anyone would really suspect would be Oliver, but…right now, anyway, it's working in my favor._

The phone buzzed next to him, the small device vibrating impatiently. "Hanover," he said, keeping things as normal as possible.

"I understand thing there have gone according to schedule," a voice said on the other line. It was smooth, with a cultured air to it.

"Pretty much," Christian replied. "When the lights come back on, the whole place will be looking for answers."

"And you have done your part, I trust?"

"Absolutely."

"Good, good, very good. We should release the hold on the electronics in about thirty minutes. Where is Agent Lawrence now?"

"On ten, with those profiler freaks. There's something else, though…"

"Yes?"

"I think he's got Joshua Hollenbeck believing his side of things."

"This will be a problem?"

"It might. Josh is not a man you want to cross—he'll figure it out, if anyone can."

"Do what you must. The blame must fall on Oliver Lawrence—especially if you wish to advance from your 'current' position."

"Don't I know it. Okay, then, in thirty," Christian said before hanging up.

He looked around the office. There was no one around. Since the lights had mysteriously gone out, most had walked downstairs to stand in the courtyard, taking in a little sun. Others were wandering the halls, and still others were continually asking when the lights would come back on. Christian finished the last bit of work he had, then hit 'enter' and stretched out his legs a bit. With the profilers' technical analyst suddenly 'absent,' he didn't think there would be too much problem passing off the files for the real thing. Rising from his chair, he casually made his way down the four flights of stairs and 'wandered' on ten for a bit, circling the glass doors that he knew held his victim inside.

* * *

"Look at this," Kevin cried, having set up a widescreen laptop terminal in the conference room. Though Garcia's office would have been a better place to show off his discovery, there simply wasn't enough room for eight people to be in there at once. "It's brilliantly simple, but it works."

"What is it? Looks like gibberish to me…" said Rossi, peering at the lines of random letters on the screen.

"Not when you use that code Oliver has," Kevin explained. Punching in the formula, the screen magically dissipated and came back up as a series of files—some with photographs of various people and places, some with pages of text. The main focal point, however, was a long letter that was at the forefront of the information he'd received.

"Looks like target information," Oliver said. "Do we know who the people are?"

Josh now squinted at the images. A few of them looked familiar.

"That one, there, on the left," he said, his accent still as noticeable as ever. "That one we found een 'otchnair's house. Same with those there," he said pointing at photographs of four individuals. "They are all diplomats, from Eastern Europe."

"Diplomats?" Emily asked, taking a keen interest. "What was the reason for the gathering?"

"There ees a gathereeng to make changes een some agreements, I theenk," Josh said. "Sometheeng to do with nuclear weaponry, pairhaps. Other things is political. Not much of my speceeality, really."

"Sounds normal to me," Emily said. "I don't suppose we can get an itinerary…"

"Not posseeble," Josh replied. "But I 'ave sent out many of my best agents for thees.

"Still doesn't explain the plane mechanic, the engineer, and the chemist," said Oliver. "I mean, the taking our people I'm beginning to understand, especially with that information from earlier, but really…"

"What information?" Reid asked, still keeping his eyes closed whenever possible. He was laying down off to the side, wanting to be included but conceding to the prone position due to his injury.

"Someone's out there planting information that makes it look like _I'm_ the one who's masterminding the whole operation," Oliver said. Looking at his superior, he said, "I'm not, Josh. On my life, I'm not."

"I beleeve you, Oh-lee-vair," Josh said. "The treek ees, 'ow to prove you air _not _doing thees theengs."

"Good luck." The young agent took a deep breath. "I've already kidnapped two federal agents today, handed one over to a possible terrorist group, and unwittingly downloaded a virus that caused the lovely blackout you see here. If you didn't all know me, or have some idea of me at this point, wouldn't _you_ think I'd be capable of doing much worse things?"

Aside from Reid, several pairs of eyes goggled at Oliver in disbelief.

"It's true," Reid said. "At least the kidnapping part. But he didn't want to do it. It's why he brought me back."

"And Chase Davis?" Rossi asked. "She was expendable?"

"Chase told him to do it, Agent Rossi," Reid explained. "They wanted her in the first place, for some reason. She figured it was better that she go, being that she had a way into the operation…"

"What better way than to seemply go at someone's reequest?" Josh mused. "Breeleeant."

"I didn't want to, Josh. But I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice, Oliver," Morgan said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It was do that or let them kill my sister, Agent Morgan. What would you have done?"

Morgan thought about that for a minute. In truth, he'd have made the same choice had one of his sisters been in trouble. Garcia was practically a sister to him, and he knew beyond all doubt he'd set fire to thousands if there were no other way to save her.

"I thought so," Oliver said forlornly.

There was a tap on the glass that startled everyone into reality.

"Sorry for the intrusion," the young man said, smiling politely. "There's no one on my floor, and I was wondering…"

"Yees, what ees it, Chreesteian?" Josh asked.

"Oh, Josh, Oliver, thank God. I was wondering when this blackout would be over…"

Nearby, Reid's mind began processing the new sound he was hearing. He could swear he'd heard it before…

"No idea, Christian," Oliver said. "Sorry."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then, Oliver. Clever bastards, whoever they are…"

Reid suddenly sprang up from the floor where he'd been lying down. The sudden rush to his head made him cry out a little and he held his aching head. As the figure of Christian left, Reid said in a hushed whisper, "That's him!"

"Him who?" Emily asked.

"My head! He's the guy who hit me!"

"Reid, come on, man," Morgan said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm in pain, not deaf! I'd know that voice anywhere! Especially after that!"

Morgan and Rossi raced out of the conference room and called out to Christian, who was standing near the east stairwell. "Hey, could you come in for a second? Your boss wants a word with you," Morgan said, nearly breathless form the full-out sprint.

Christian stared at the two profilers that were standing in front of him. _Do they know? _he wondered.

_Nah. Probably not._

"Sure. Wouldn't want to keep Josh waiting," Christian said. "Lead the way."

* * *

In the conference room, Josh stared at the young man who was still wincing in pain from the knock to the head he'd received. "Air you seairtan thee voice you 'aird wass Christeeain's?" the older agent asked. "Beecause 'e 'as worked for me a long time, and 'as a spotless record…"

"I'm telling you, it's him!"

"We will see."

Just then Morgan and Rossi appeared, with Christian behind them. After ushering the man inside, Morgan took a seat next to the door.

"You wanted to see me, Josh?"

"I must ask a quesstion, Christeeain," his superior replied. "Where were you earlier thees afternoon, about…"

"Three o'clock," Reid supplied.

"Yees. Three."

"Went back to the scene, sir," Christian answered. It was almost the truth. He'd gone to the Hotchner house for a minute or two, then took off towards Andrews to make sure Oliver had followed his 'directions' like a good boy…

Behind him, he saw a squat little man in horn-rimmed glassed working feverishly on a laptop. The man's eyes furrowed as he continued reading something off the screen.

"How about at five minutes to six?" the little man asked. The room fell quiet as he did so.

"I was at my computer. Working on files from the case this morning. Why?"

"Can I talk to you two for a moment?" the little man asked, looking at Josh and Rossi.

"Excuse us, pleese," Josh said. Rossi said nothing, but followed as Kevin hurried into the nearest open office—Rossi's.

"That guy's in on it," Kevin declared the moment the door swung shut.

"Prove it," Rossi said.

"Every time someone uploads a file onto a system here, they leave a kind of 'fingerprint,' a digital one," Kevin explained. "I've been looking at the files that came in from that flash drive, and there's been a few added since the blackout from a laptop."

"So?" both superior agents asked in unison.

"So the laptop is registered to one Christian Hanover. I doubt he knows that the system makes a copy of the IP and the machine where a file is uploaded from. On my honor, and those of our friends, this guy's in on it," he said plainly.

"Terrific," Josh said, heaving a sigh. "My two best agents, and one's beeing coerced and the other ees a traitor. The question ees, why?"

"Better question: does he know where the missing people are being kept?" Rossi mused.

"Come, Agent Rossi," Josh said. "Let us find out."


	24. Greek Interpreter, Spanish Prisoner

**Sorry for the delay...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

It was finished. After six weeks of practically non-stop work, the entire plane was functioning and fully operational. Jason Hennessey stood a few feet away from it, half-heartedly admiring the work he'd done.

_It really is a beautiful machine,_ he thought. _Steve would love to take this little baby for a couple of test flights. Hell, if my licenses were up-to-date, I'd fly her a bit…_

The old man who had been 'supervising' the plane's construction stood back and gave the entire craft the once-over. Jason cautiously looked over at his overseer, who was wearing a small smile of satisfaction.

"You like?" he asked, the sarcasm evident. Jason hated the thought that such a magnificent piece of machinery would more than likely be used to inflict horrors on countless innocent people. The 'trapdoor' he'd been made to install in the plane's undercarriage had told him that.

"It really is quite remarkable," the old man said, sounding very pleased. "My superiors will be pleased as well, I dare say."

"Pleased with what?" a voice asked behind them. It was not a voice Jason had heard in some while—more specifically, the night he'd woken up in this hellhole. He turned on his heel, allowing him to stare this newcomer straight in the face.

"Satisfied?" Jason snapped. "You gonna let me out of here now?"

"Patience, my boy," the man crooned taking careful steps around the plane's frame to inspect it while not getting anything on his neat suit. "Yes…yes…oh, this is most excellent. Very fine work. I congratulate you, Mr. Hennessey."

"Thanks. Now, about the leaving…?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible just yet."

"Like hell." Jason took two large steps backwards before turning again on his heel and racing for the exit. The sound of heavy footsteps followed him closely, and several hands grabbed Jason just before he could reach the door. Though he was a capable fighter, Jason knew he couldn't fight off six armed men all pinning him down to the floor, some training weapons at him.

"All right, all right," Jason cried. "I give up. Would you _please_ get off of me?!"

"Really, Mr. Hennessey, there's no need for this."

"You're telling me, pal. You told me once this thing was built, I could go on my merry. Who's the one holding back on their end?"

"Believe me, we do not wish to keep you merely for our amusement."

"Really? Then why?"

"You see, there's one more small thing we need you to do for us…"

Jason set his face flush with the concrete floor. _So this is it, _he realized. _They're never going to let me out of here. _"What do you want?!" he snapped, his voice rising.

"There's a small package that needs to be loaded onto the plane, Mr. Hennessey. We would like you to load it. I'm certain the pilot wouldn't mind…"

"Really? Why's that?"

"Leave him out of this," another voice called out from across the enormous hangar. Jason struggled to lift his head just enough to see where that voice was coming from—it was one he would recognize anywhere.

"Steve!"

"Jase, do what they tell you, okay?"

"Like hell, Steve. Do you know what they're going to _do_ with this thing?"

"Nothing good. But we don't have a choice."

Jason managed a glimpse of his partner, and his heart sank. Steve had not come of his own choice or volition. Surrounding the large man were at least eight more guards, all armed to the teeth.

Furious, Jason turned his eyes on his captor. "What do you need him for?" he asked. "What are you making him do?"

"Merely his part of the operation, Mr. Hennessey. You see, Mr. Shaw is a most excellent pilot…"

It all fell into place. Jason had built the plane to specific dimensions, particularly in the cockpit and pilot's chair areas. The only person who could fit in the seat was Steve. He'd built the damn thing, and Steve had to fly it…"

"What does he have to do?" Jason asked, his voice thick with defeat.

"Merely deliver our package."

"And UPS wasn't good enough?"

"Not for contents such as these, no."

A trolley cart with a squeaky wheel lumbered into the hangar. Jason looked at the small wooden crate that lay on the top.

"Please pick Mr. Hennessey up," the man in the neat suit said. "He needs to load the plane."

Strong hands grabbed Jason by the collar and he arms, hauling him to his feet. The muzzle of a rifle prodded the mechanic forward, and Jason cautiously peered inside the small box. It contained nearly half a dozen metallic 'eggs.'

"I'll bite," Jason said. "What's in 'em?"

"None of your concern."

_Which means nothing good,_ he thought.

Heaving a sigh, Jason unwillingly lifted the crate from the trolley and loaded it into the plane's cargo area. The box had to fit underneath a small robotic arm that had been installed in the back of he cargo hold while he'd slept.

"Now, Mr. Hennessey, if you'll follow me," the man in the neat suit said brightly. "We must leave Mr. Shaw to his task."

"Don't do it, Steve," Jason said as his guards began to lead him away.

"I have to," Steve replied, his voice clearly saying he didn't want to do what it was he was being told to.

"No, you don't!"

"You don't understand!"

"Understand what?"

"If I don't, they'll kill you!"

Jason stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw fell slack for a split second. "_Son of a bitch!_" he cried.

The man in the neat suit smiled. "Yes, I am," he relied evenly. "Now, please show Mr. Hennessey to the 'waiting room. I'm sure Mr. Parker would like some company…"

Steve watched as he saw his partner being hauled off like chattel, watched as Jason fought and struggled against the grip of his guards. _If I could find a way out of this without them hurting you, I'd do it in a heartbeat,_ the man thought as he was led to the cockpit of the plane.

* * *

David Rossi walked back into the conference room looking more thoughtful than normal. A lot had changed since he had been in the thick of things during his original term in the BAU, that was certain, but never had he gotten himself caught up into what was beginning to look like an act of international terrorism before. What made things worse was that aside from the various people he'd met just that morning, there wasn't much he could do himself about any of it—and two of his own people hung in the balance.

As he walked over to the side of the small conference room, he leveled a deep stare at the man in front of him, who was sitting in one of the plush chairs as if there wasn't a thing in the world wrong. Rossi began studying this Hanover character more closely as he let the man's superior begin speaking.

"Chreesteeain, do you know why the lights 'ave gone out?"

"No, Josh. Sad to say, I'm as 'in the dark' as everyone else here."

"Mmm. Eet ees rather peculiair, ees'nt eet? Een a place such as thees?"

Christian shrugged. "Freak accident, maybe. A tree broken by the storm, perhaps?"

"Pairhaps."

Behind Christian, Oliver hung his head in shame. Rossi knew the young man was thinking about his actions over the course of the last fourteen hours, and was desperate to find a way to prove himself innocent.

"Pleese, eef you would, I must access sometheeng on the computair. Mine ees, as you know, out of servaice. Might I use yours?"

Christian looked a little uncomfortable, his eyes flicking quickly back and forth. "I don't have a laptop, Josh."

"Then, eef I may, 'ow ees eet you were working earlier thees afternoon? The lights, they 'ave been off for nearly two 'ours."

"I wasn't working. I had to stop…"

"No, sir," the squat little man said. "You did say you were working upstairs."

"And you do have a laptop, Christian," Oliver said, finally facing the rest of the group. "I've seen you with it. You love that thing."

"Oh. _That._"

"Eef I may?"

Rossi looked at Christian, squirming like a fish on a hook. He knew he was caught. "It's all right," he said to the man. "I'm sure one of these people would be happy to get it for you. Emily, JJ? If you would…?"

Catching the hint, the two walked slowly out of the room, heading for the east stairwell.

Rossi returned his gaze towards the slightly balding man, who looked to be in his mid thirties. At any rate, he had a good ten years on Oliver Lawrence, and was about seven or eight years Josh's junior. The man began tapping his fingers against the table top, a nervous habit.

"Please," Reid said, finally sitting upright but still on the floor. "Don't. My head…"

Christian stopped, staring at the figure of Reid on the floor. Rossi noticed that the man's eyes involuntarily glanced over at the handiwork on Reid's scalp.

"My dear doctor, are you ceairtain you do not need a doctor yourself?"

Christian's face paled a little.

"You all right?" Rossi asked Christian, not unkindly. "You're looking a little under the weather…"

"No, no, I'm fine," the man said, obviously not 'fine' at all. "Really, though, you should get that looked at. It looks nasty—perhaps a concussion?"

"It's not that bad," Reid said, displaying his best poker face. He had figured out what Rossi was up to, and was playing along. "The worst part is over, anyway."

"Aha."

Suddenly a phone rang, its shrill _beep_ resounding in the quiet room.

"Aaah," Reid moaned, holding his ears. "Too loud…"

"Please, answer it," Rossi said. "For my agent's sake, at least."

Christian hit the 'send' button. "Hanover," he said. After a few grunts, he hung up. Moments later, the lights all came back on in a brilliant flash.

"Eenteresting," Josh said, picking himself up out of the chair he'd been seated in.

Just then another phone went off, though silently. Rossi picked up his own device and held it to his ear.

"Rossi."

"Hey, Dave? Emily. This guy Hanover has some _very _interesting stuff on his desk—like that laptop he 'couldn't remember' having."

"And there's this," JJ's voice said over the line. "Some sort of odd formula…"

"Wait a minute…." Rossi held the line. "Dave, it's Oliver's code. The one his sister gave him to use for his private stuff here at the office. Oliver said that only he and her had that particular encryption system."

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding a little. "Bring it all. We'll store it in my office for the time being."

"Gotcha." The line went dead.

Rossi closed his phone, then turned to look at Oliver. "Hey, Oliver," he said. "What was it you said your sister was studying again?"

"Cryptography. Math-based formulaic stuff. Why?"

"Did she ever do any work for you, personally?"

Oliver's eyes began to glimmer. "Yeah. She gave me an encryption system she made, something tough but deceptively simple. We're the only ones who know it."

"Huh."

Sitting at the laptop in the room, Kevin cried, "Aha! Genius!"

"Not so loud," Reid pleaded. "What now?"

"Come here," he said, beckoning the young doctor to join him at the screen. "Do you see what I see?"

Reid studied the screen carefully. "I see a bunch of gibberish."

Oliver walked over to the screen, curious. "It's encrypted," he said.

"Bingo."

"Okay," said Christian, himself now a bit curious. "So what does that mean?"

Oliver looked at the random pattern on the screen. He was certain the formula was something simple, but not the one he used regularly. He could tell Sarah's work when he saw it.

"See for yourself, Christian," he said, motioning him to roll his chair over. Christian did so, looking at the same random hodgepodge that every one else saw.

"Yep, definitely encrypted," he said finally.

"Do you see it?" Oliver said. "This is usually your thing. I'm not much for it, except through Sarah."

Reid began running the grid-like pattern of the scrambled information through his head. Within seconds he had the answer, and he immediately typed it into the laptop.

The scrambled mess vanished. In its stead came up a series of pages of text.

"Looks like a manifesto of sorts," Christian said.

It was Kevin, however, who caught the difference. "Maybe," he said. "But have you ever seen anyone write like _that_?"

The four agents looked at the screen, staring. Morgan soon joined them, now beyond himself with curiosity.

"Looks to me like a manifesto, sure," he said, "but there's something…I dunno, 'tacked on, maybe? There, towards the end of the sentences."

Kevin highlighted the pages of text and laid them out in a word processing program. His fingers flew, highlighting the 'tacked on' bits and arranging them in another document."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you," Kevin said finally, finishing his task.

"What's it say?" Rossi asked.

"It says, 'Kidnapped by man in white suit—British-style accent. Stuck somewhere big, lots of computers and hallways. Hotch here, so is Kyle Parker and Chase Davis, some others—not by choice. Something big going on, don't know what. Come get us." Morgan smiled as he read it. "Nice going, baby girl," he said. "We're on our way."

"To…where, exactly?" Christian asked. "I mean, the message is interesting, but how are you going to find the writer?"

Rossi stood up, standing flush between the only exit and Christian Hanover. Josh stood as well, showing solidarity with his colleague. "Well, Christian," he said. "That depends on you."

* * *

Jason fought every step as he was forced down a dark, narrow hallway. The path was illuminated only by dim floor-level lights, just enough to see forward several feet.

"Where are you…_hey!_" he cried, straining to remain near the top of the hallway. "Let _go_ of me! _Let go!_"

"If you don't settle down, Mr. Hennessey," one of the guards warned, "we can—and _will_—sedate you."

"Like _hell!_"

One of the guards drew a syringe from his inside breast pocket. He jabbed it into a vial of clear liquid, tapping the loaded needle a couple of times once it was removed. Jason's eyes widened, staring at the pointed steel that threatened to invade his person…

"Are you going to cooperate with us, Mr. Hennessey?" the lead guard asked, his face as stony as his voice.

Jason's eyes never left the needle. He was terrified of them. Involuntarily, his head slowly wobbled in assent.

"Very good. Please, follow me."

Jason unwillingly followed the man, careful to stay at least a couple steps ahead of the man with the needle. He couldn't shake the guards that flanked him, two to a side.

Near the end of the dark corridor, a door opened. Jason felt a rough shove inside, finding himself inside an extremely dim prison. Everything was wet inside, and there was a young man curled up in a corner, seated on what looked like a low stone bench built into the wall.

"Hey," Jason said softly, inching closer to the huddled figure. Behind him, the solid door swing violently shut and bolted on the outside. The mechanic spun on his heel, racing the three steps to the door. He pounded onto it and screamed at the top of his lungs, all to no avail. Jason leaned his head on the metal barrier in defeat, trying to catch his breath and regain his voice. He desperately did not want to cry, but he felt the slight hint of a tear track rolling down his right cheek.

There was a slight shuffling sound from the corner. The young man had picked his head up, and stared at Jason with wide eyes. There ws something familiar about him…

"How did you get here?" the young man asked. His voice was garbled and thick, like a radio station going out of range.

"Don't I know you?" Jason asked, coming closer. The lights in the tiny space were as dim as those in the hallway, and the image he had of the curled figure was bathed in quarter-light at best.

"I'm deaf. I can't hear you. Come closer, so I can see your face, please?"

"Hey," Jason said, coming closer. "You're Kyle, aren't you? The kid from the bath?"

"Huh?" It took the young man a moment, then he replied. "Oh. Yes. I know you…"

Jason pointed to himself. "Jason," he said, making sure to put emphasis on his lips.

"The bath."

Jason nodded.

"I don't think they're gonna let us out," Kyle said, his voice fuzzy as ever.

"Why?" Jason said, taking a seat next to him. "Why would you say that?"

--"My friend, she tried to help me get out of here,"—Kyle began, signing out of habit. –-"They picked me up, blinded me, and threw me in here. It was dark. I couldn't see anything. The lights, they just came on a few minutes ago. I screamed, and tried to get out, but…"—

Jason nodded, tapping his head. He hoped the young man understood him.

--"Then they started pouring water from the ceiling somewhere,"—Kyle continued. –"It started to fill the room…"—

"That explains the wet feeling," Jason said. "But why did they stop?"

--"I don't know."—

Jason leaned in and put an arm around Kyle's shoulders. The younger man looked as lost and forlorn as a tourist on a sinking ship.

"We'll get out of here," he said, making sure to face his unlikely companion. "My partner is working on it."

--"So's mine. She's working on it, too. I know it."--


	25. Going Mad

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Steven Shaw mentally ran through the checklist every pilot had once they entered a cockpit. As he did, the grating voice of the man who was holding Jason hostage floated to the surface.

"_It's very simple, really,_" the man had said. _"Just follow the coordinates that have been programmed in, open the hatch, and release the devices, one at a time. There are three points you will need to drop them at—two devices for each. After that, you'll return here, where Mr. Hennessey will be waiting, and you can both take your leave."_

_Simple—hah, _Steven thought. _It's never that simple. There's always a catch… _

A part of him wanted to tell the man in the white suit to go to hell, and take his grating accented voice with him. He knew that even if he jumped through all of their hoops, they'd never let Jason go. Nor him.

Steven's eyes danced over the sight of the radio, the one thing he might be able to use to his advantage. He twirled the dial, hoping to find an open channel that wasn't being monitored by these people…

A sharp crackling sound emitted from the small black box. "Mr. Shaw, please leave the radio tuned where it is," a voice said flatly. "It only broadcasts to our transmitter, in any case.

_So much for finding an open channel,_ he thought. Reluctantly, he started the pre-flight sequence, hoping that the trip would be long enough to figure something out...

* * *

Garcia found herself in a peach-colored room, very similar to the white room that she and Kyle had shared earlier. The 'attendants' had left some time ago, and Sarah had taken to curling up in a sad little ball on one of the oversized beds.

"Well, at least there's a color in here," she'd said, trying to lighten the mood a little. "It's not purple, or bright pink, but hey, what can I say? The decorator for this place _really_ sucks."

Sarah smiled a little. "You'd think they'd have just painted the walls yellow, let us think we're all going mad," she replied.

"Huh?"

"It's from an old story, _The Yellow Wallpaper._ Some lady goes up to a country house for 'rest' after having a baby, and she becomes convinced that the room she's staying in has something living behind the yellow wallpaper in it. It's supposed to show post-partum depression and madness."

"Well, this place is certainly that. I know I've seen enough."

"Me too."

Garcia crossed the room and sat across from Sarah on the bed. "Do you have anyone waiting for you, once you leave here?" she asked, hoping to learn a little more about the girl.

"My brother, Ollie. He works for the FBI."

Garcia chuckled. "Me too. Technical analyst and oracle of all knowledge."

Sarah laughed.

"What's your brother do? Maybe I've seen him, done some soul-searching for him…"

"He works in counterterrorism. He loves the field."

"Oh. Not my department."

"What do you do there, Miss Garcia? When you're not being the 'oracle of all knowledge'?" Sarah's hands put an emphasis on that last part.

"Oh, review and analyze documents and images for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Murders, mostly. Done by some real whacko crazies."

"Technical term?"

"Oh yeah, and there's _so _many more. Thinking of starting an online dictionary on the subject…"

Sarah laughed again. Then her face fell.

"They'll ruin him, you know," she said softly. "Ollie, I mean. If they don't decide to kill him first…"

"Hey, don't go thinking like that," Garcia chided. "My team? Best in the business. If they can go rooting through the minds of some seriously deranged and depraved people, they can certainly play a little 'hide-and-seek' to find us. Okay?"

"And who knows? Maybe Ollie is helping them."

"Now, that's the spirit." Privately, Garcia worried. She knew that Hotch was somewhere in this hellish maze, and wondered what he was being made to 'do' in order to get out of this nightmare.

* * *

Chase stared at the blue floor tiles, wondering if this was what going mad felt like. She worried whether Kyle was okay, and would have done just about anything to even say five words to him, if only to know he was all right.

"How the hell long does it take to find a damn dossier?!" she screamed suddenly, trying to vent her frustration the only other way she knew how. There were no cards to 'stack' and not a weapon in sight to serve as a release. "I mean, are they just making it up as they go along, or what?!"

"Hey," Hotch said, his nerves also wound to their breaking point. "The screaming is not going to help."

"Granted that," Chase said finally, heaving a frustrated sigh. "But the boys watching should know by now I've well-and-truly had it."

"Really."

"Don't start, Agent Hotchner. I am a woman trapped in hell."

"This isn't any easier for me."

"You're not responsible."

"What?!" Now Hotch's eyes widened a little.

"You don't have a responsibility complex. I do."

"Care to explain?"

Chase heaved another loaded sigh. "It's like this," she began. "You have responsibilities—people depend on you for a variety of things, and you seem to thrive on it. It's even caused you some grief now and again. But you don't automatically feel responsible for every single person you come in contact with."

"And you do?"

"I don't lose people."

"You mentioned that. The Brennan case, remember? You said the same thing when we were looking for Reid—who is, by the way, one of 'mine,' to use your method of thinking."

"He was working for me. At my request. I called you lot in, and you were at my school. Therefore, he was also 'mine.'" Chase shrugged. "I've lost enough people in my life—I'm not about to let my profession or my lifestyle take more people before their time."

"So you decide when a person's 'time' is up?"

"I said, don't start. Try getting inside _their _heads for a change, eh?"

Just then the familiar _whooshing_ sound floated up through their ears, and a single pair of feet echoed across the pale blue tile.

"Well?" the man asked, his neat suit looking as if it had seen a slight hint of dirt.

"Well what?" Chase snapped. "If you're expecting me to go back on what I said, you're thicker than that wall over there."

"I wouldn't dream of such a thing. Besides, I plan to hold you to that promise. Mr. Parker is depending on it."

"Bullshit. Like as not he's as dead as whoever you've got in those file folders is supposed to be."

"Perhaps."

"Straight answers just aren't your thing, are they?"

"I could just solve the problem right now," the man said, beckoning behind him. Two 'attendants' came forward, both holding well-loaded pistols.

"You better be a hell of a shot," Chase warned.

"I am."

"Then you go kill these people!"

"Chase," Hotch said, his voice warning her to dial back the sarcasm a notch.

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner," the man said warmly. "I must say, it's a wonder she gets work, with her methods…"

Something danced off of Chase's fingers, but for all Hotch knew the young woman could have been insulting their captor's mother, telling him where to get off, or just telling him how to fuck himself.

"Miss Davis," the man said, his voice a warning. "Watch yourself. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be responsible for two unnecessary deaths, now, would you?"

Chase stole a look at Hotch, and thought of Kyle. _Damn it,_ she thought.

"Now, are you ready to fulfill your part?"

"Do we really have a choice?" Chase asked, her voice calmer but her wit still showing.

"Not really," the man said. He handed over the files. Chase studied the photograph inside hers. It contained the face of a friend she had known from college…

"You're kidding, right?" Chase said, switching her gaze from the photograph to the face of the irritating man standing before her.

"Not in the slightest."

"Why?"

"Not your concern."

Chase stole a glance at Hotch. His face grew more stone-like than ever. "When?" he asked.

The man in the suit looked at his watch. "Oh, about three hours from now," he said.

"Impossible. Last time I did one of these it took me, at minimum, two days for recon and setup," Chase said flatly.

"Well, then lucky for you that part's been taken care of," the man replied. "In fact, this will be an inside operation. You've already got a reason to be there."

"I do?"

"Who do you think was calling you last night, just before you went into that hole where you play cards? Certainly it wasn't just anyone…"

Chase remembered the phone call. She knew she had had to make an early trip into D.C., but she was supposed to meet the client at an embassy…the Chinese embassy, to be exact.

"Everything you need is right there, Miss Davis. I expect this should take not longer than forty minutes. You can figure something out, I'm sure."

"And him?" Chase said, pointing her thumb at Hotch. "He's…what? Window dressing?"

"Failsafe," he replied. "And he'll be with you the whole time."

_What the…?_ The look on Chase's face was obvious. Walking over to where Hotch had dropped the file, she picked it up. Inside there were two photographs. One was of an older gentleman she had met on several occasions, and liked.

The other one was of herself.

"Now, Agent Hotchner," the man continued. "You have a choice. Either the first photograph or the second, it doesn't matter—as long as one of them ends up dead. Otherwise…"

Hotch tipped his head in acknowledgment. His face looked as though it could burn a hole in the wall. Not even that time in Massachusetts when Reid had had to intervene during that interview was close to what he was feeling now.

The stakes were far too great.

"Come," the man said, motioning to the 'attendants.' Each one placed themselves behind both Hotch and Chase, making sure the business end of their weapons was lodged in their unwilling assassins' backs. "It's quite a long drive, and you've got some planning to do…"

Chase looked up at the superior agent. He was one of the few people she ever felt deferential to, and she respected his ability to lead his people. Now, it seemed, the roles had reversed themselves, but the independent-minded woman still hoped that Hotch could give her some advice—or, at least, be able to follow her lead if it all went to hell. Looking at him, she tipped her head at a slight angle and tapped her head.

To the casual onlooker, it looked like she was deep in thought.

To Hotch, it looked like something else entirely.

It looked like she was saying she knew more than their captors thought.


	26. Conversation in the Parlor

**Sorry for the delay--I was out of town this weekend and had some internet difficulties. I'm back at it, though, and hope you enjoy this installment!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Depends on _me_? Come on, Josh—surely you're joking," Christian said, looking imploringly at both his superior and Rossi. "I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"We know, Chreesteeain," Josh said, a scary tone growing in his voice.

"Know what?"

"We know." Now it was Rossi's turn to look scary. "And over there are a bunch of people who are gonna hear all about it, unless you start talking."

"Talking about what?" asked Emily, who was just coming through the door with JJ. "What'd we miss?"

"Mr. Hanover here was just about to tell us where to find Hotch and Garcia," Rossi said simply.

"Christian…" Oliver said, the reality of what Josh and Rossi finally sinking into his overworked brain. "But…_why?_"

"I'm telling you, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Morgan had had enough. He strode over to the chair Christian sat in and deftly picked him up by the collar, throwing him forcefully into the wall. "Where are they?!" he shouted, scaring even his own colleagues who were used to Morgan's fits of emotion. "Or should I take a page out of a friend's book?" he asked, pulling his sidearm out of its holster.

Rossi knew what Morgan meant. He'd been there when Chase Davis had threatened to shoot that kid in order to learn where Reid was. There was a part of him that knew this would escalate a bit too far, and that he should stop Morgan before he did something he would regret.

On the other hand…

"Aim for the knees," Rossi said finally, now surprising his colleagues even further.

"You're not serious?!" Christian cried.

"As a funeral," Morgan said. "You're going to tell us, right now, where our people are. Or I'll shoot."

"This is a trick. Some sort of profiler thing…"

Morgan smiled, the smile he reserved for scaring the hell out of particularly devious people. "Uhn-uh," he said. "Good old-fashioned ingenuity right here."

"Noise," Reid said, still holding his head, a pained look in his eyes.

"I ought to let _him_ do it," Morgan said, after pretending to give the matter a little thought. "He's suffered more than we have…"

"Christian…" Oliver said, his voice almost pleading. "Where's Sarah?"

"I… I…"

"Kid, his patience isn't gonna hold out much longer," Rossi said. "Believe me."

Christian looked at the irate man holding him flush with the wall. He looked into Oliver's pleading eyes, eyes that also held a good portion of disbelief. He scanned the room, looking for a friendly face, but found none. A few of them looked all too willing to let this man just kill him right where he stood.

"Josh…"

"Eet ees ovair. I am through with you. Go, sair," he said, tipping his head at Morgan. "You would be kindair to 'im than I would."

That thought alone frightened Christian to death. Everyone on fourteen knew that Josh had some foreign training (though which kind no one could say), and the thought of letting him determine his fate…

"Son of a _bitch_," he spat sullenly.

"Where are they?" Morgan asked again.

"Somewhere near Silver Spring," the traitor supplied. "Some huge abandoned complex there, was an old think tank of some kind."

"Directions," Rossi barked.

"Hell if I know! I wasn't ever there! Strict security-minded people, they are. Crazy as hell too, come to that."

"How did you meet them?" Emily asked.

"_They _came to _me_, lady. Within five minutes of talking to them it wasn't hard to figure out they'd been looking at me for a while. Knew I was looking for a promotion, knew the roadblocks standing in the way…" Christian glared at Oliver. "Oh, yeah, Lawrence? Them getting your sister? That was all me. Your Achilles heel, and it _just_ so happened the they needed someone who knew encryption. How better to get rid of the rising star, the genius who's standing in my way?"

Oliver looked at though someone had stabbed him in the heart. Rage and betrayal, however, soon turned to fury. "Stand back, Agent Morgan," he snapped. "_I'm_ gonna shoot him…"

"Oh-lee-vair!" Josh barked. "Control yourself!"

"You son of a bitch," Oliver said. "And if this hadn't come along…"

"Who knows. Moot point now, isn't it?"

"How did they find out about the others?" Rossi demanded.

"I only know about the woman, some dame named Chase Davis. They'd been looking at her hard, and needed a way to get her in. Real prize to them, I gotta say. The rest they didn't tell me."

"What about Chase Davis?" Reid asked. "Why's she so special?"

"Ask them," Christian replied.

Kevin had taken the scant information Christian provided and was focused on running a search. "Bingo," he cried. "Lincoln Systems, just outside of Silver Spring, Maryland. Here's the address." Kevin scribbled down a complicated address on a scrap of paper.

"Can you get visuals?" Rossi asked.

"Just a….oh, wait, it's blocked," came the reply. "Someone's blocked it from the satellite photo. That can't be good…"

Morgan handed over Christian to Josh, who had been on the phone for several minutes. By the time he'd hung up, no less than eight agents were standing outside the conference room, waiting to take Christian Hanover into custody. "I want to eenterview 'im pairsonally," Josh instructed. "No one leaves 'im ailone, and no one speeks to 'him othair than mee. _Comprenez?_

The agents nodded. They took Christian into custody, and Morgan was pleased to see that they were not overly kind or gentle to him as they did.

Rossi stared at the address on the scrap. "Send this to everyone's phone-thingie," he said, staring right at Kevin. "And try and locate those diplomats—I have a feeling they're not out of this yet…"

Kevin set about the search as the rest of the team grabbed their gear—including Reid, who was following behind with his eyes closed.

"Reid, stay here," Rossi said. "You can't go out in the field with your head like that…"

"I'm fine. Besides, someone needs to be able to talk to Kyle…"

"I can do it," Oliver assured him. "Really. Go back and lay down."

"No, really…"

"Kid, go help Kevin find those diplomats then," Morgan said, understanding Reid's reluctance to stay behind. "They need our help too."

Slowly, Reid nodded his head. "All right. But bring them back."

"Damn right," Morgan agreed. "Every one."

* * *

The hallway was nothing short of amazing. Hotch noticed the expensive Oriental furniture, sparse but elegant, and the rich tapestries that lined the walls. Several of them had intricate designs woven into them, and one looked like an old portrait painting of a geisha near a stream.

Chase took the lead, and Hotch followed her through several winding hallways until they reached a teak door. She tapped three times at it, then stood back and heaved a sigh.

Hotch knew what weighed on her mind. He could see her absently fingering the hilt of the small dagger she was to commit the murder with. The hope of being left alone to 'perform' the 'task' was dashed when two of their guards followed them in, dressed in neat black suits.

"_They're part of your 'detail,'" _their captor had said while they had been driven up from the hellhole maze they'd been kept in.

"_Really? You think I need a babysitter?" _ Chase had argued.

"_I think you might. I wouldn't want you to…how does it go? 'Get any ideas?'"_

Chase had given Hotch a look. It seemed she already had something up her sleeve.

Now he bristled as he stood in front of the door, feeling the breath of the guard standing behind him on the back of his neck. The thought of being forced to carry out an execution weighed heavily on his mind. But the thought of what would happen if he _didn't_ frightened him—and Aaron Hotchner was not a man who frightened easily.

The door _clicked _open, and a round, prim face peered out. "May I help you?" an educated voice asked.

"My name is Chase Davis," Chase said. "I received a call late last night asking me to show up this afternoon."

"And the others?"

"Are with me. I was consulted, and they're expected."

"Very well. The ambassador is currently indisposed, but his son is available. Allow me…"

The gentleman admitted them, and Hotch followed Chase's lead. In a sunny receiving room, a young man about Chase's age stood next to a gently winding ebony staircase.

"Chasie," the young man said, pulling the young woman into a hug.

"Hey, Mo," said Chase, her voice warm but formal. "Long time."

"Yes, it certainly has been. Where's Kyle?"

"Keeping things on track at the school. Someone's gotta work the day job, eh?" Turning towards Hotch, she said, "This is Aaron Hotchner. He's okay; he did a little work with me before. Agent Hotchner, this is Li Mao Xiong, son of Li Xiao, ambassador from the People's Republic of China."

"You can call me Mo," the young man said warmly, shaking Hotch's hand. He felt the young man give him the once-over. "Taking them a little older, aren't you, Chasie?"

Chase shrugged. "I've learned not to question it, in my profession. Speaking of, what's with the 'to do' around here? Getting in was a lot harder than usual…"

Mo laughed once, more from nerves than of mirth. "Dad's pet project," he explained. "The North Koreans are really starting to put him on edge…"

"Yeah, like us and Iran. What else is new?"

"Well, this should help. Dad's organized a summit meeting, hosted by another diplomat—an Ambassador Prentiss. You heard of her?"

"We've met," Hotch said. "She's a good woman; very dedicated."

"She seems that, sir," Mo said. "She and Dad have been in meetings all week, and there's several other diplomats that are coming in for the conference. Mostly from Eastern Europe, but it's a start, yeah?"

"Sounds good," Chase confirmed. "So…why am I here, Mo?"

"Death threats."

"Come on, you boys must get like a dozen of those a week," Chase chided gently, trying to lighten the mood.

"Not like this, Chasie," Mo replied. Waving towards her and Hotch, the man escorted them towards a small parlor. "I want to keep this as close as possible," he said. "You've vouched for Mr. Hotchner here, and that's enough for me. I know your discretion."

"Go ahead," Hotch said. Chase nodded.

"There are rumors of a fringe group within this country trying to gain access to old nuclear weapons stores, among other things," Mo began. "Crazy radicals, the lot of them, and it's all run by two cousins who are hellbent at making themselves a 'small empire,' to use their term."

"Megalomania," Hotch said. When Mo returned a puzzled look, he explained. "They have an ego problem. Like Napoleon."

"Precisely. When word got out that my father was behind organizing this meeting, the threats came in like water. I mean, there's the usual ones, Chasie, but these guys…well, they get creative."

Chase nodded her head once. She knew all too well how 'creative' they could get.

"So we're here to make sure you and your pop don't get…" She paused a moment. "…done in by these guys?"

"Yeah. Last year there was another summit, over in France, remember?"

Chase vaguely remembered. It had been followed by a toxic gassing of the building where the summit was held. Hundreds were sickened, and at least nineteen people died.

"That was them?" she asked.

"No doubt," Mo said firmly. "We were there. My father's private secretary, Chen Li, was killed in that attack. He was also my father's best friend."

That bit of knowledge settled for a long moment.

"They're capable of anything," Mo explained. "They create new weapons, they plan assassinations, they stage attacks like the one in France. This time they've promised to put an end to such 'nonsense,' as they call it, and plan to 'make an example' of us."

It all fell into place. Hotch's eyes widened, though no one perceived it.

_They're going to have us kill them, their own 'security,' _he realized. _And then they'll publicly hang us for it…_

Chase made sure her back was toward the door, keeping her hands out of sight of the 'hired help.' She chattered on a bit about various points of interest to Mo, especially the Brennan case, but Hotch saw that her hands were telling a very abbreviated and different tale altogether. Unlike some of his colleagues, Hotch had only picked up a very few basic signs from the experience at the Institute, but those were the ones Chase was using now.

Mo's eyes furrowed in confusion, then softened in understanding as he followed the conversation—both spoken and signed. "I really should plan a visit to your school again," he said aloud. "I enjoyed the lessons you gave me, and would like to talk with Kyle again." He tapped his head while nodding it slightly, indicating to Hotch that whatever Chase told him, he'd understood.

Just then there was a sound coming from the front stairs. Mo hurried out of the room, Chase and Hotch following behind. There was a long conversation in Chinese which Hotch didn't understand. Chase, meanwhile, was listening with interest.

"Let 'em follow _that_ conversation," she said under her breath. Though the 'hired help' was standing nearby, they didn't seem to notice.

"You understand them?"

"Just a little. I taught him sign when we were at Georgetown, and he taught me Cantonese. Don't ask me to try Mandarin…I suck at it."

"I thought Mandarin was the 'official' language of the Chinese government?"

"I think it is, but Mo's family speaks Cantonese as the house language."

"Ah."

Chase's hands fell near her waist again, her fingers brushing against the hilt of the hidden knife. "Here goes nothing," she said as she walked up to speak with the ambassador.


	27. Betrayal

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

**A/N: I don't actually speak Cantonese, so if you see dialogue in bold, it's supposed to be in Cantonese. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

As the conversation went on, Chase could understand mere snatches of it. Her Cantonese had gotten rusty in ten years…

"Gentlemen, if we could, please," she said, taking a place behind the two. "Sounds to me like there's a lot to do this evening, and we can't keep everyone waiting…"

The ambassador nodded. Turning to face both Hotch and the hired help, he asked, "Who are they?" in heavily accented English.

Waving a hand to Hotch, she introduced him to the ambassador. "The others are people I brought up from the call list. They're okay," she said, trying to make light of the fact they were really not.

Chase went over the revised layout of the embassy. Apparently there had been a few renovations since the last time she'd been in the building nearly a decade ago, and she had to consider those as she went. She spied a small clock hanging from the back wall of the receiving room. 7:14.

Turning to the 'hired help,' Chase said, "You two in the front. You," she said, pointing to Hotch, "with me. And keep your eyes open. Anything happens to these two and I'll kill you personally. Understand?"

The three men nodded, then took their places.

As they escorted Mo and his father down the ornate hallway, Chase began looking for the 'perfect spot.' Her stomach churned every time she imagined the blade of the dagger being buried into one of her best friends. As for killing his father, Chase couldn't conceive of the notion. Whatever else anyone had to say about the Chinese government, she knew that Li Xiao had done wonderful things to try and bridge the differences between her country and his homeland, no matter how great the cost to himself personally. The thought of some new official taking over, someone indoctrinated in strict Party fashion who would become difficult and unbending with policy, was one Chase didn't want to acknowledge.

_And yet, if I don't do this, those two up front will,_ she thought. _And then finish off both Kyle and probably Agent Hotchner's son in the process, most likely while we watch. And that's if they don't kill us first…_

She could feel Hotch's eyes give her the once-over. The party was coming up towards a small foyer, carpeted in plush red and containing only a small end table made of mahogany. A pair of panda bears had been inlaid on the tabletop, in mother-of-pearl and ebony. Her fingers unwillingly began to grasp the hilt of the knife.

In front of her, Mo carried on his conversation with his father. He gasped as the blade dug into him, near the waist, just inches from the liver. He tried to spin, but the force of her removing the intrusive object kept him from turning full circle. His eyes were wide with disbelief.

"Why?" he managed to ask.

"I don't have a choice," she said, giving the only explanation she could. Once the ambassador realized what had happened, he began calling out. A well-placed shot drove him to silence. Blood began pouring out of a hole near his abdomen.

"I'm so sorry," she said, tears falling down her face.

"Come on," one of the 'hired help' said firmly. "Your part's still not done. There's been an addition…"

Hotch, who was trying to cover his shock, stood still as a statue. He wasn't getting sucked into this. The 'job' was over, and he'd been promised he could go home.

A promise, obviously, that was never intended to be kept.

The 'hired help' then pulled pistols out of their own holsters, aiming them at the two Chinese men that lay motionless on the ground. Blood poured from their wounds, and if they weren't dead, they would be in a matter of minutes.

"Very nice, Miss Davis," one of them had the nerve to say. "You see? Not so bad. I'm sure your friend Mr, Parker appreciates your sacrifice."

"Shut the fuck up and take me back to him," Chase snapped.

"Like we said, there's one more 'little thing' that the boss wants done," the other man said. "Now, if you'll both follow me…"

As she was forced out of the room, she turned to look at the two men she'd left on the floor. Her heart poured as she was led out the entrance and into the back of yet another dark van.

* * *

From thirty thousand feet, the world looked like a giant ant colony. Little miniature-sized vehicles drove along gray- and dirt-colored lines, while little clumps of trees looking like square cauliflowers sprouted up in various places among the tan- and red-colored earth. Large buildings tried their best to reach the heavens, still standing pitifully short of their goal.

Steven Shaw gazed out at the miniature-looking world below him, realizing just how much he loved this aspect of flying. Up here, in the clouds, the world was his for the taking—even if it was only for a few hours inside a flying machine.

He thought about the times he'd taken Jason up with him; how he'd met him on a Air Force base nearly ten years ago and realized that he'd found the person he knew would be with him the rest of his life. He thought about their courtship, and the decision to 'come out' after they were both out of the service. Their families' reactions. The ceremony that only his cousin Jack and their housekeeper attended. The new life they'd built since then, with friends and neighbors who weren't as appalled at their relationship as their prim and proper families were.

_These people certainly knew how to do this,_ he thought to himself, clutching the wheel as if it were the man in the neat suit's throat. Behind him, his 'cargo' rattled a bit, reminding him that he still had a 'job' to do before this was all over…

Steven's mind absently ran over the last image he had of Jason—being dragged through a doorway by six guards, his partner screaming and struggling the whole time.

_Why us?_ Steven thought. _Why not someone with more experience, or who was more receptive to what these people want? Why did it have to be us?_

_Focus. Questions aren't going to get this done._

Steven looked at the GPS monitor that had been installed. The plane was moving in autopilot towards the 'final destination,' and it looked like it was headed towards someplace just inside D.C.

_Whatever this is, I hope it doesn't hurt anyone,_ Steven thought. He'd tried to go in the back and have a look, but the seat he was sitting in was weight-sensitized. After the first attempt at getting up, a loud alarm sounded and an unwelcome voice barked through the radio for him to sit down, lest his 'friend' (to use the man's word) would have to suffer.

_I don't like this. I don't like it at all…_

The plane flew onward, slowing down a bit. It was as if someone on the ground needed to get somewhere first.

* * *

Morgan was driving faster than anyone in the SUV had ever seen him drive. Emily was clutching her seatbelt as if the small strap of cloth would protect her from a full-blown head-on collision.

"Morgan, take it easy!" she cried as the vehicle swerved around a semi. "We can't save anyone if we end up _dead_!"

"We have to get there," Morgan said simply. "She's not going to be in there not one more minute…"

"Still, driving like a maniac isn't the answer…"

Morgan's foot eased off the accelerator slightly, dropping the speed to only eighty miles an hour instead of ninety-five.

Emily sighed. She too was eager to save Garcia, and the others, but with Morgan it was like a man possessed. Privately, she figured the people holding her friends hadn't done their homework close enough. If it was 'tiger kidnapping' that was fueling these people's agendas, they should have gone with Morgan for Garcia, instead of Hotch. It was the one aspect of the whole thing that still threw Emily for a loop.

The two-lane highway widened as the pair neared a mammoth building, just on the outskirts of nowhere. A high electrical fence surrounded the structure, almost daring someone not permitted on the grounds to get inside.

"Electrical fencing," she said. "Steel reinforced. Good luck trying to get through that."

Morgan, however, was already on the phone.

"Reid? Have Kevin cut the electric for this place. Otherwise we're not getting in…"

* * *

"I heard that," Kevin said, quickly tapping a few keys on Garcia's keyboards. "Just a second…"

A few quick taps and the surrounding area on a grid that had been pulled up went black. A few more taps, and another mile was added to the perimeter.

"Place is pretty black now," Reid confirmed, his eyes still squinted half-closed. "Good luck."

"_Has nothing to do with luck,"_ Morgan's voice said over the phone. Then the line went dead.

"How are we doing on those diplomats?" Reid asked. "I've called every embassy on the list, and all I get is that they're all in meetings and can't be reached."

"Could be they're in meetings," Kevin said, looking hopeful.

"Yeah…" Reid began, "or it could be that something's happened that no one wants out." He began pacing, though slowly. "Can you see what meeting all of them are supposed to be at?"

"Hmm, let's see." More keys shuffled. "It looks like…huh."

"What?"

"Well, looks like all of them were going to some sort of conference on nuclear testing and weapons," Kevin said, looking through the file. "It's being hosted by an Ambassador Prentiss, but the real guy behind it is some guy named Li Xiao—he's the ambassador from China."

"Wait—did you say Ambassador Prentiss?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Pull up that number. House, office, cell, whatever!"

Startled, Kevin did as he was told. He had heard from Penelope just how animated the young doctor could get when something bothered him.

"There, that one." Reid said, pulling out his own phone. After pressing a few buttons, he heard the line on the other end ringing.

"Elizabeth Prentiss," a well-spoken voice said after a minute.

"Ambassador Prentiss?"

"Yes?"

Reid introduced himself very quickly, then said "Ma'am, we have reason to believe someone is going to target your gathering tonight."

"Impossible. We've got dozens of agents form your counterterrorism unit, no less than seven different security teams on site and measures to keep out such people."

"Ma'am, I'm going to read off a list of names. Could you at least tell me if they've arrived?"

A pause. "I could. Just to set you at ease."

Reid ran through the listing. "Every one of them is here, on site," the ambassador replied. "But, come to think of it…"

"What, Ma'am?"

"Well, there is someone missing…Li Xiao, and his son. They were helping me give the summit tonight, and they're now over forty minutes late."

"Is that common for him?"

"Not in the slightest. I could set my watch by the man."

Turning to Kevin, Reid said, "Could you look up the address for Li Xiao?"

"Already on it." Kevin read off the address.

"Okay. Stay here, and if anyone calls, I'm right next to you." Reid thanked the ambassador, asking her to call him personally if anything changed. She hesitated, and then agreed before hanging up.

"Where are you going?" Kevin demanded.

"The Chinese embassy. Something's not right."

* * *

In the middle of the foyer, the two men lay nearly motionless. The younger of the two was breathing heavily, a sad smile crossing his face.

"**Father?" **he asked, slowly moving his arm towards the prone figure lying beside him. He gently shook him, hoping that his wound wasn't serious.

"**Yes?"** the older man asked. His breath hitched a bit.

"**Can you move?"**

"**Yes, I think so. Why did…"**

"**She was coerced, Father. She and the man with her, the stone-like one."**

"**Coerced?"**

"**The men who killed Chen Li stole her friend."**

A spark flashed in the older man's eye. **"Chen Li's murderers?"**

"**Yes. They would do the same to her friend, and to the other man's son."**

The ambassador's face contorted painfully. Mo saw a fragile hand reach for the hole that now existed in his father's stomach.

"**Someone! Help! My father's been shot!"** he cried, his voice a little hitched.

No one came. Mo looked over at the clock. The attack had happened over fifty minutes ago, and there wasn't much time. He tried to get a look at his father's wound, knowing his own was a slow bleeder. Thankfully, Chase had aimed perfectly—the wound in his father's abdomen looked a lot worse than it actually was.

_Nice shot, Chasie,_ he thought as he called out again. Another five minutes had passed, and time was not working on his side.

Suddenly a pair of footsteps crept near them. The shoes belonged to a very tall man who looked near his own age.

"Lie still," the young man told him. Mo then heard the man call for help immediately, and then went over to check his father. The stranger pulled off a very loose sweater and tied it around his father's wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Are you okay?" the man asked. "Do you know who did this to you?"

"I do," Mo said, noticing the stranger's eyes as he spoke. "It was not her fault."

"I don't understand…"

"She did this, a friend, but had she not it would have been much worse—for me, for my father, and for others not here."

"Who did this?" the stranger asked.

"A friend," Mo said stubbornly. He would not betray Chase, and kill Kyle and the stone-like man's son in the process.

"Is her name Chase Davis?"

Mo shook his head, but his eyes betrayed him.

The stranger nodded. "She's a friend of mine, too. I understand why you wouldn't give her up. And you're right—it could have been worse…"

Just then the paramedics arrived. The stranger spoke with them briefly, showing them a credential of some kind. The medics nodded, understanding.

"I'm going to have them put you in body bags," the tall stranger said. "Just for show, so that Chase remains safe. All right?"

Mo turned and quickly explained things to his father, who nodded his consent, though weakly.

"Please, hurry."

"We will."

Mo allowed himself to be covered up in the bag, the zipper just barely reaching the top part of the bag near his face. He felt the stretcher underneath him begin to roll away, and it was then he realized he was in a lot of pain.

_Chasie, I hope this works,_ Mo thought as the ambulance sped off.


	28. Reception

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

A lone figure stood in front of a wide mirror, trying to fix the cuffs on his dress shirt. He'd thrown a little water in his hair, and was trying to come to terms with the 'directive' he'd been given just three hours ago.

Finished, he pulled out a small article containing a picture. The photo was of him and a younger man, standing outside St. Peter's Basilica. The two were nearly mirror images of each other, save that there was a noticeable age difference in them.

Raphael Charles took in a deep breath. He'd worked as the ambassador to Russia for many years—longer than the Soviets, he'd often joked—and had been looking forward to his impending retirement. The proudest day of his life was when he'd learned that his son was to take over his post.

And now, his son was God-knew-where, held captive by a voice on the other end of a phone line.

"_It's really quite simple, Ambassador,"_ the voice had said. _"There are two people we need to be inside with you during the summit. All you have to do in order to see young Thomas again is to simply let them in and direct them towards the balcony."_

Raphael had balked. _"That's all? If I may, why not just…"_

"_Use the front door? They could. However, they'll have some 'items' that will most assuredly not be allowed through the gates. Those items will be delivered beforehand, and you'll be there to receive them."_

The packages had arrived, as promised—Raphael had a fair idea of what was inside of them, but the fear of retaliation against his son was enough of a deterrent to keep him from alerting the guards at the front gate.

Now, in a dressing room, he readied himself for the arrival of the packages' 'owners'—people he was sure had nothing but ill in mind.

There was a cheerful _chirp_ as Raphael's phone began to ring. "Yes?" the older man asked, almost afraid of who might be on the other end.

"Your guests have arrived," said the faceless man who held his Thomas. "Please see them in."

Heaving a deep breath, Raphael set down his phone and exited the bare dressing room. The walk to the front gate of the embassy was a long an arduous one.

* * *

Chase Davis didn't like not being in control of the situation. It had been at least an hour since she'd 'killed' both Mo and his father, and she hoped beyond all hope that her plan had worked. She'd sincerely regretted having to do what she had done, but it solved a lot of problems—for one, it took Agent Hotchner off the hook, leaving him less culpable later should things go haywire. For another, it allowed her to 'follow through' with her forced agenda without actually committing murder. She knew Mo would have her back, if it came to that.

If, in fact, he survived the knife wound she'd given him. Her anatomy was fair, but she'd really gotten rusty on that point over the years.

Now she was being led towards a small entrance near the front gate—one likely reserved for the hired help and the numerous staff members the embassy dealt with on a daily basis. Behind her, Agent Hotchner followed silently, his demeanor still stone-like to the untrained eye. She was beginning to be able to read him a little, and she could tell that his blood was boiling at the notion of what 'other thing' they were being coerced into doing.

"_Boss says you have to take out the diplomats at the summit. No survivors."_

"_You're crazy," Chase had said._

"_Miss Davis, need I remind you…"_

"_You don't mind if I tell you to go fuck yourself, do you?"_

A hand had reached for a tiny microphone. _"Very well…"_

"_No. Don't." _Chase could have kicked herself. _"How many?_

"_Seven. They all die."_

"_Tall order."_

"_Agent Hotchner? Anything to add?"_

Hotch's face had grown darker. The leverage held over him was immense—so much so that even speaking out of turn might set these fanatical people off. Even with all his profiling skill, it was hard to try and talk them out of what they meant to do, simply because they _believed_ in it so implicitly. He shook his head, silently trying to figure a way out of this mess.

"_You'll be on your own for this part, though you'll be 'escorted' to the door," _the man had continued. _"There will be people 'placed' throughout, however, watching what you do. Don't for a second think you're out of the woods yet."_

It had been Hotch's turn to wax sarcastic. _"I wouldn't dream of it."_

"_See that you don't."_

Chase now stood at the front side entrance, looking as though she were trying to crash a royal ball in nothing but street clothes. "I'm a tad underdressed," she said dryly, noting that even Hotch had been allowed to change into a suit before going out on this little adventure. Her own plain shirt and capris simply would not fit the bill here.

"Then see you're not discovered," the man behind her said simply.

Just then an elegant-looking older man greeted them, his white handlebar mustache reminding Chase of a slightly shorter version of Teddy Roosevelt. "I am Raphael Charles. Welcome," he said.

"Chase Davis," Chase said.

"Aaron Hotchner," Hotch replied.

"Very well. If you'll follow me?"

The pair followed their 'host' down a long corridor and up a short staircase, leading them into a small room near the stairwell. It was plain and drab, holding only a small chair and a very wide mirror.

"You'll need to change, miss," the older gentleman said.

"Into what?" Chase asked. "I, ah, don't exactly have anything else to wear…"

"Your bags," Raphael said, waving a hand toward the long suitcase-like boxes that stood against the far wall. Chase opened one of them to find a waiter's uniform along with a small high-powered rifle with scope.

Chase clucked her tongue in distaste. "They certainly think of everything, don't they?"

Hotch was staring at the older man, who looked nervous. His hands were constantly moving, fussing with something on his person or twitching his mustache. "Something wrong?" he asked gently.

"I would think it would be obvious," Raphael said, an angry tone to his voice.

"You think we want to be here, Ambassador?" Hotch replied.

"How did you…?"

"The way you're dressed. How you're composing yourself. You keep searching for something that's not there—likely because you've given it up or misplaced it. The fact that you've gone this far says someone's got something over your head, so backing out isn't an option. You keep checking your watch, like you're expecting something, or perhaps waiting for a specific time…"

"Then you know."

Hotch walked over to the other case, finding merely a longer high-powered rifle with scope. "We don't want to be here either."

"Really."

"What have they got on you?"

Raphael hesitated a moment. Hotch knew he was debating on whether to trust them or not. He could feel himself getting more than the once-over—he was getting the full workup before a decision was made. Finally, the ambassador pulled out a photograph of himself and a younger man standing in front of an ornate building. "My son, Thomas," he said softly.

Hotch accepted the photograph, looking at it carefully. He then replied, "They're threatening my colleagues, all close to me. Them and my son. He's three."

Raphael turned to Chase. "You are a believer, then?"

Chase scoffed. "Hardly. I'm in the same boat. They're threatening to torture and drown the only 'family' I've got." She then jabbed a thumb in Hotch's direction. "Plus half of his colleagues are friends of mine, so there's that, too."

"A lot of responsibility for a woman your age," Raphael mused.

"What are you saying?"

"I've never seen one so devoted to people that are not their own," the ambassador replied. "Except for those who take public service."

"Well, you're about to see a whole slew of new things tonight," Chase promised.

"So it would seem," Raphael replied. "Come, the summit's about to begin…"

Chase and Hotch made their way down the hall, their 'bags' with them, and stood just near the edge of a large open room. The floor was nearly three stories below, and below them were the tables and seats of the invited guests who were about to make the world a safer place.

* * *

Reid managed to make it into Bethesda without attracting too much attention. The Chinese ambassador and his son had been there for about twenty minutes now, and both had been immediately wheeled into surgery.

"They were both extremely lucky," said the attending surgeon, a Dr. Moliere. "Had their injuries been just a fraction of an inch off in either direction, you would have found corpses."

"How bad is it?"

"Are you next of kin?"

Reid had to stifle a chuckle on that point. "No," he said. "But I am working on their case." He held out his credentials.

"Even so, there's only so much I can tell you…" the doctor replied.

"I'm just interested in their condition. How is it they got so lucky?"

"My best guess? Whoever did this wasn't intending to kill them. Like their arrival, it was just for show."

Reid nodded. "That explains a few things."

"I'm sorry, but I really must get back. I can have someone call…"

"I'll wait."

The doctor hurried down the hall. Reid sat down on a long padded bench, curled up, and fell asleep. The head injury he'd suffered earlier was beginning to take its toll, and he needed to be in top form later.

* * *

Morgan paced. The electric had been off for about a minute, and then the _crackle_ of volts returned, proving there were generators still working on the site. He thought back to the original trace they'd done of the call Oliver Lawrence had gotten in their office—where was it Kevin had said the call originated?

He pulled out his phone. "Hey, where did that phone call Oliver got come from again?"

"Somewhere near D.C. and Northern Virginia. Though, considering these people, it could be a false lead. A good scrambler could screw up a trace, or if the phone's sim cards have been corrupted…"

"So you think we're in the right place?"

"Honestly?"

"Never mind. Keep us posted."

"Will do." The phone hung up.

The sound of tires startled the agent, who was about fifteen seconds away from just storming the place. Behind him was a small convoy of vehicles that had pulled in, and from one of them three familiar faces exited.

"So, this is the place?" Oliver Lawrence said, looking just as ready for war as Morgan was himself.

"Best guess," Morgan conceded.

"I brought friends." Oliver waved a hand at the scores of other agents who were setting up.

"Fourteen?"

"Josh sends his regards, and will call if Hanover tells us anything. He personally wants the guys responsible for this—he's taking it hard, a traitor in his unit…"

Emily looked on at the crackling fence. "I would too."

Several agents were making quick work of the fence by merely finding the source of the power and neutralizing it. A spray of red and gold shot out from a section of metal fencing, causing a few to step back. Finally the fence shorted out, and it fell silent.

"Here goes nothing," said Oliver.

"Follow me," Morgan said. "I want these guys' heads on a pike."

"I'll bring the pike. After we find Sarah."

"And Garcia."

"And Kyle Parker," Rossi added, loading his own weapon.


	29. Rashomon

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

Patrick Callahan strode through the darkened corridors of the maze-like labyrinth, his feet ably navigating the black space. There was nothing for him to fear now, even if those pesky 'friends' of some of their 'guests' _did_ manage to get inside.

All of the doors to the 'color' rooms were sealed, thanks to the shorted electric. No one could get either in or out, not without an acetylene torch and an infinite amount of time and patience—none of which he planned to make available.

The dungeon rooms were kept dark purposely, but the bolts that held the doors fast would take hours to unlock without a key—the one he held in his hand.

In any case, there was really nothing that could be done. Everyone had played their part, and the operation was now just beginning to wrap up. Even now, a few of the 'employees' that had been hired on at the beginning were finding that the 'severance package' really lived up to its name. It was business. Nothing more.

The unfortunate people locked in the 'color rooms' might survive—if they were lucky.

As Patrick made his way to a particular door, he nimbly tapped in an override button set near the locking mechanism. The door creaked open, and he walked in, a sinister object shining against the light reflecting from the hall onto the pale peach wall.

"What's going on?" a voice asked.

"Nothing, my dear," Patrick said calmly. "If you both would just follow me, I think we can see you on your way…

* * *

Arthur Cordova stood primly within the meeting room at the embassy, his neat black coat and white shirt giving him the look of an impeccable waiter or perhaps a private bodyguard. From his position at the back of the room, he could take in everything that was happening within. There were seven ambassadors in total, each making what small talk they could, each waiting somewhat patiently for their hosts to arrive. A well-dressed woman finally cleared her throat, and the room fell into a hushed silence.

"It seems our hosts are running a bit late," the woman said, a courteous smile still gracing her long face. I do not think it amiss if we begin now, and allow them to settle things, yes?"

There were a few nods, a couple of guttural voices giving a muted agreement.

"Very well. I must thank you all for coming. I know that Ambassador Li is very grateful that we could meet to discuss such a topic as this…"

The invited guests took their seats, and the summit commenced. From his perch, Arthur looked skyward at the fantastic chandelier that hung loosely from the ceiling, looking like a million small raindrops casting brilliant beams of both white and color-refracted light.

Just above the hanging base of the chandelier, two small barrels peeked outward, hidden from view by the ornate wooden railing of the balcony and the sight of the glittering light fixture. The deadly cylinders had grown longer than they had originally been, as silencers had been affixed to their ends.

On the right side of the balcony, a man in a suit tried to blend in with his surroundings. He stopped briefly to listen to the woman speaking, and it pained him to think that she must die in order to save her own child's life—and neither one knew it. If only there were some way out of this…

On the left side, a young woman in a waiter's uniform readied her scope. She was using it to both settle herself on her first target and gain one final look at her surroundings—once the hail of lead began to fall, she would need an escape plan, and fast. Her bright green eyes scanned the center of the room, and then along the walls at the small gathering of personal bodyguards and servants. One man in particular stood out among the crowd…

_That's him,_ she thought. _**That's**__ the bastard behind all this!_

She managed to catch the eye of the man opposite her on the balcony. With one look, she managed to tell him everything. He tipped his head in understanding.

The young woman pointed at the man across from her, then lifted her finger skyward, then pointed it sideways, curling the tip towards her. Again, the man understood.

The man took a deep breath. He hoped that the woman was right. Slowly, he aimed the barrel and gently pressed the trigger. There was a faint _cling_, and then a shatter of glass.

Almost in unison, there was another small _ping_. A body fell to the floor, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

The sounds of fifty feet plodded ever onward, trying desperately to navigate the maze of corridors and open rooms that led nowhere. Flashlight beams danced over every available corner, and voices called out, looking for those who could not find their way.

"Sarah!"

"Garcia!"

"Hotch?!"

"Chase Davis!"

Beams of light danced over corners of a great room, containing a large balcony and two computer terminals.

"Garcia?!"

There were shots fired in an outer hallway. They were returned quickly, and the sound of weight falling assailed some ears.

"How the hell are we going to find Parker?" a voice asked, clearly frustrated.

"Lights," replied another. "We have to keep searching…"

"Hotch?!"

"Chase?!"

"This way," another voice said, blond hair catching in the light. "There's another row of doors…"

A fist pounded into one of them. "Where's the handle?" its owner asked.

"Mmm. See that?"

"What?"

"This," a voice said, the glare dancing inside deep blue orbs. "It's a manual override keypad—we need the electric turned back on or the code to override."

A phone flipped open. "Hey, turn the lights back on in here," a commanding voice barked. Within a minute the hallway was flooded in light.

"Well? Open it."

A red-haired tech crept up, eagerly prying the panel off with a screwdriver. "Just a second, Oliver," the tech replied, trying to make quick work of the door. After a nasty spark and a shock, the door _whooshed _open. Its walls were blazing white, and it was empty.

"Look here," a dark-hared woman said, pointing around them. There were more doors just like the one they'd cracked, all with keypads.

"I'm on it," the red-haired tech said.

"Look here," a man said suddenly, poking his head and weapon inside the opening in the wall. "This one's been left open…"

A man stormed in, looking as if he would dismantle the place brick by brick. The pale peach walls betrayed nothing, but he would recognize that color pink anywhere…

"Garcia's been in here," the man said resolutely.

"How can…" The dark-haired woman asked, then her eyes followed the man's finger to the strands of pink fiber that were scattered on the peach coverings. "Oh."

"She loves that set. I was there when she had to change into it at the hospital that time."

A nod. "You're right."

"Sarah's been here, too," the deep blue eyes said. "This is her handwriting." He held up a scrap of paper with some words on it.

"What's it say?"

"Nothing I can make out."

Another tech poked their head inside. "Agent Lawrence? There's some people out here…"

"People?"

"No, sir, not her. But some other people I really think you should speak to…"

The blonde woman looked at him. "I'll handle it." She confidently made her way towards the hall, allowing the tech to lead her.

"Know what I'm thinking?" the older man asked.

"This was way too easy?"

"This was way too easy," the man agreed. "Something's not right about this…"

* * *

In a dark, damp cell, two figures stayed close together. One of them, a tall man, had tried in vain to call out for help, but none ever came. The other, a young man with sand-colored hair, remained in his protective ball he'd been curled into since the water receded. He knew that unless someone found them, there would be no escaping this room.

_Is anyone out there?_ he thought bleakly. _Or have we been left to die?_

* * *

"Guys! Over here!" someone shouted.

Five pairs of feet came running. They turned into a large room filled wall-to-wall with plasma screens.

"The entire complex, from every angle," the voice said.

"Stay here," Oliver ordered. Fitting himself with a mike, he said, "Okay, you're gonna talk me through this place, got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Anyone comes near, tell me."

"Uh-huh."

"And if you see these people," Morgan added, handing pictures of Garcia, Sarah, Chase, Hotch and Kyle to the tech, "yell."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll stay and help with the directions," Rossi said, also fitting himself with a mike."

"Let's go," Morgan said. Oliver escorted him out the door. Emily followed behind them, her weapon at the ready.

* * *

In a large hangar, Patrick led his two prize pieces towards a small jet. It looked like any normal aircraft, and it had been meant for use in escape for himself and his cousin Arthur.

_Ah, well,_ Patrick thought. _At least one person will emerge from this unscathed…_


	30. Catch and Release

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Chase, what did you do?"

It had taken less than a second for the room to clear out and the small gaggle of diplomats to race to safety. One of them stayed behind, not caring that just seconds before a warning shot had broken a water glass and that there was a body lying motionless on the clay tile floor, softly moaning.

"What I was told. Why?" The young woman walked over to the prone figure, rapidly bleeding out from a sizable wound near his heart. "Oh, don't worry," she said. "You're not gonna die on me just yet." Chase knew there wouldn't be much time, and hastily scavenged through her tormentor's pockets and hands, finding a throwaway cell phone in the inside of his suit coat and a small transmitter in another. Before the man could press the button on it, Chase snatched it away.

"Ah-ah-ah," she said, her voice belying her emotions. "I don't think so."

"Who _are_ you?" the lady diplomat asked, in a tone of voice Chase knew was accustomed to being answered.

"Someone who was supposed to kill you, ma'am," she said flatly. "Would you mind calling off the guards?"

"Certainly not! What do you mean, _supposed_ to kill?"

"Ambassador Prentiss," Hotch began walking back in from the corridor after being cornered by no less than twelve armed guards. "I'd listen to her, if I were you…"

"Agent Hotchner?! And just _why_ should I believe a word she says?!"

"Because I was supposed to kill you too. Up there, with a high-powered rifle."

"Impossible…"

"Obviously not, lady," Chase said, her face saying what she wasn't. Turning her attention to the gasping man on the floor, she spat, "Where are they, asshole?"

"Dead." The word came out as a choked cough. "You'll never find them…"

Hotch then remembered the phone he was holding in his hand. He turned it over and pressed 'redial.' After a few rings, a smooth voice answered.

"Arthur? I say, good of you to finally call. Did everything work according to plan?"

"Not quite." Hotch's voice was so hard it could have cut through a diamond.

"Arthur? You're breaking up…"

"Where are they?" Hotch demanded, but all he received in reply was a earful of static. The body at Chase's feet let out a pained chuckle.

"Too late."

Chase turned to Ambassador Prentiss. "Get your people out of here," she said. When she still stood there, looking at the younger woman like she was a purple cauliflower growing on the side of the wall, Chase snapped "_Now!_"

"Too late," the figure below them choked out. "Everything will… still… go accor…ding to… plan. First Li, then… the rest… of them…"

Chase brought her face to within an inch of the dying man's. "I got news for you," she crooned. "I missed."

"Im…poss…ible."

"Well, not if you plan it right." A deep smile slowly grew over Chase's face. Though Hotch had seen a lot of unsettling things in his time as a profiler, that slow smile that graced the young woman's face was very near the top of the list of them.

"No…ma…tt..er. It's…too…la…" With that, the man in the neat suit fell dead, cold skin replacing warm heat.

"Fucking hell!" Chase said, her anger getting the best of her.

"Are you going to shoot us now, too?" the ambassador asked, her face implying that the question was very serious.

"No. I'm not going to shoot anyone. But I do need to know who this is…"

"Your accomplice, I'm certain," boomed a deep voice from the hallway. A looming giant of a man stood in a tuxedo large enough to house a small country, staring directly at both Hotch and Chase. "You two are under arrest."

It would do no good to explain. Chase's face balked, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Hotch shook his head. He allowed the officers to take him into custody, and Chase followed his lead, allowing herself to be taken as well. However, Hotch pocketed the small transmitter, and kept the phone on his person. Though they were of little use to him now, they might be placed into hands that might make them useful in finding their missing colleagues.

* * *

Patrick closed the phone, looking on at his passengers. It seemed a shame to have to kill them, but there it was. He had determined long ago that his 'empire' would be ruled by himself, and Arthur of course. The fact that they had needed such…_well-connected_ people on this attempt was a small price to pay for the end result, but it would be all worth it, in the end.

In a seat across from him, Sarah Lawrence began to fidget a little. "Where are we going?" she asked, trying to get a better glimpse out of the window. All she saw were the walls of the plane's hangar as the machine began to spin itself towards the open door, aiming at it like a stray thread through the slim eye of a thin needle.

"Back to where you came from, my dear," Patrick lied. He had taken the two women because their people had come for them, and much too early. With luck, the impending blast from a few well-placed explosives would take care of them. As for the curious young woman and her older, more seasoned counterpart, well…

"Um," the larger woman asked, a look crossing her face that told Patrick she was beginning to think something wasn't quite right. "Where exactly _are_ we, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Why, an airport, of course."

"Not several hundred feet from the maze we were stuck in?"

"Did we or did we not promise that you would be let go as soon as your participation was complete?"

Garcia thought about that a moment. This was just way too easy…

Before either woman could argue, the plane's engine sputtered and roared to life. The pull of the machine toward its exit, coupled with the blaring echoes of the blades spinning and engine firing made them unaware of a small group of figures that were beginning to pour out of the side entrance.

Pressing a button on his armrest, Patrick summoned the pilot. "Take off at once," he said flatly, his eyes keeping a close eye out the window at his insipid pursuers.

_There's nothing you can do now,_ he thought as the plane jerked forward ever so slightly.

A small hail of bullets, however, kept them from going very far…

* * *

Mo lay motionless on the bed. It had taken nearly forty-seven stitches to repair the wound that Chase had put inside of him, but he still remembered the short conversation in sign she had had with him in the parlor.

--Mo, they're here to kill you,-- she'd signed. –They sent me to do it.—

Mo had shaken his head. The thought was ludicrous.

Chase had tipped her head slightly, showing that the idea was not as ludicrous as he thought.

Mo's eyes had furrowed. –What will you do?—

--What I do best. It'll hurt, but you'll need to play along if you want to avoid being dead. Do you trust me?—

Mo had stared his friend in the eyes, and held it for a long moment. He then flicked his eyes toward the man standing next to her, who had remained silent unless he had been spoken to. His question, though unasked, was clear.

Chase smiled that half-smile of hers. –Follow my lead, and please, tell your father about this.—

And then, not less than twenty minutes later, he and his father had been lying on the floor, feigning death. The conversation that the 'hired help' had had with both Chase and her friend before they were unceremoniously hauled off was proof enough to him that she had been completely right.

_First Chen Li, then my father, then me? But why? And why drag Chasie into all this?_

"Mr. Li?"

The soft voice startled Mo. He turned his head sharply and saw the kind face found him and his father so near death.

"I am," he said. "But you have me at a loss."

"How's that?" The stranger sat down next to the bed, mindful of the long white bandage that wound around Mo's abdomen.

"I do not know the name of the man who saved my father from death."

"Oh." Nervously, the younger man held out his hand. "Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit. I'm with the FBI."

"How is it you know Chasie?"

"Long story."

Mo looked around. "I've got plenty of time." He folded his hands neatly, minding his wound as politely as he could. A small grin washed over his face.

"Mr. Li…"

"You may call me Mo."

"I'm the one who really should be asking the questions…" Reid said, knowing full well the man in the bed was trying to press for information as much as he was trying to extract it himself.

"True. But Chasie…she's special."

Involuntarily, Reid smiled. "She certainly is."

"So?" Mo's fingers patiently drummed against themselves.

"We worked together on a case a few months back. It, ah, had a few hitches involved."

"Aha."

"You said she's the one who stabbed you…"

"She did. It was not her fault."

"I…don't think I follow…"

"Chasie came to our parlor. I had called her the night before, asking to hire her. An important summit was taking place today, and there was a need for her particular services."

"She was going to work as a bodyguard?"

"Yes. She has done this for us, on occasion. My father thinks very highly of her, and appreciates her services."

"So…what happened?" Reid was still fuzzy on how one of Chase's 'jobs' had led to a near-double homicide.

"When she came to our parlor, she was with three men. One of them she introduced—a man named Hotchner. She said she'd worked with him in the past."

Reid's face bore a look of surprise that could not be hidden, no matter how much he tried.

"You know this name, Dr. Reid?"

"Yes. He's…he's my boss. We worked with Chase on the same case a few months back."

"I see. Why, then, would he be there wanting to kill me? Or my father?"

Reid couldn't answer. He didn't know what to say.

"In any case, she alerted me to the plot. She said she had a plan, and that if my father and I followed along, we would survive. I know Chase Davis, Dr. Reid. She would not harm either of us, not without coercion on someone's part."

Reid gave a small, sad smile. He knew that, and obviously this man knew that…but convincing others of it, now that would take some doing.

* * *

Thirty thousand feet into the air, the lights of Washington, D.C. twinkled like low-lying stars. Steven Shaw felt the autopilot release, and a slim crackle fired on the radio. It was a recorded message.

_Release your cargo, Mr. Shaw. Once you do, Mr. Hennessey will be released._

Steven took in a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he breathed a silent prayer and pulled a long lever, opening the hatchway underneath the small robotic arm that _whirred_ in the back.

On his control panel, a small circle lit brightly, revealing six small objects that patiently waited to be released. Unwillingly, Steve directed the arm to grasp one of the small containers and moved it over the open hatchway.

_Please, someone, find Jason soon, _he thought.

With that, he released the lever a second time and the container launched into the night sky.


	31. The Waiting Game

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

The plane had stopped. Its engine idled, and the pilot stared out the glass barrier to find no less than twenty people moving things into his flight path, preventing him from following his instructions.

Several of the people approached, holding out what looked like credentials of some sort. Their motions were plain—they wanted inside the plane's cabin, _yesterday._

"Sir?" the pilot called back over the intercom. "There are some people who wish to board…"

"No," came the clipped voice over the speaker. "Why haven't you taken off yet? I wish to be out of here at once."

"Sir? There's people down there--a lot of them."

"I can see that," the voice snapped. "They do not board. Do you understand? _They do not board._" The last sentence was almost a whisper, but it was one that sent a chill down the pilot's spine.

* * *

On the ground, the place was swarming. From experience Morgan knew that their unsub had a better view of what was going on than they would have seeing inside the small plane.

In front of the cone, Rossi and Oliver were trying to signal the pilot to shut off the engines and allow them inside. Though the engine finally sputtered and died, the access door did not open.

"Is this guy stupid?" Oliver asked, incredulous. "I mean, he's gotta know he's not going far…"

"Who knows?" Rossi said, now certain that the plane wasn't going anywhere due to several heavy machines blocking its path. "He's likely thinking he's just following orders."

"And how many people have said that over the years?"

"Too many."

"That's what I was thinking," Oliver conceded. Now that the room suddenly grew quiet, what with the death of the engine racket, he called out at the top of his lungs. "Sarah! _Sarah!_"

Not being able to reach the plane's door, Morgan did likewise. "Garcia!" he shouted, knowing full well he could be heard.

Suddenly a hand slammed against one of the plane's tiny windows. It was followed by a muffled shout, and a flash of a face in a window.

"Sarah!" Oliver cried, recognizing the face. His eyes began looking for a way up.

Just then, a phone rang. Oliver removed the device from his belt in one continuous motion and pressed the 'send' button. "Oliver," he said sharply.

"Oh-lee-vair? Josh."

"Yeah, Josh. We've got one of 'em holed up in a plane. He's got my sister and Miss Garcia inside, we think."

"That sounds about right. Chreesteeain 'as been forthcomeeng, though not easeely." Oliver worked to suppress an involuntary smile at that. He hoped Josh was giving Hanover hell in his usual fashion. The thing Oliver knew, that no one else did, was that though Josh looked intimidating, his real power laid in suggestion. 'Aneeone can 'urt someone, Oh-lee-vair," Josh often told him. 'But tappeeng theair worst feairs and doubts…that ees really all one needs."

"What else did he say?"

"Eexploseeves. They were lookeeng to destroy someplace een the ceetee. Some new kind of eexploseeve…"

"Explains the chemist. How?"

"'e deed not say. I do not theenk he knows."

"Thanks, Josh."

"Oh, theair had been one othair theeng," Josh said. "They 'ave brought een two people for attempted murdair, and the keeling of a man in an embassy. One of them ees a young woman, the othair is this 'otchner fellow."

Oliver's jaw tightened and his eyes rolled. "Fucking hell," he spat.

"Oh-lee-vair…"

"Sorry. Thanks, Josh."

"I weel go to see them as soon as posseeble. Fairst I must dealt with thees traitor…"

"Call me back."

"Of course." The phone went dead.

"_Son of a bitch!" _Oliver screamed, his frustration now to his breaking point.

No less than nineteen or twenty faces turned towards him, however briefly.

"What?" Morgan called out.

"They picked up Chase Davis and your guy over at an embassy. Seems someone had them trying to kill people over there."

Four of the agents on the ground took that news hard, though they worked to conceal the disappointment.

Suddenly there was a soft _whumping_ sound that echoed off the steel walls of the hangar.

"What was that?" Emily asked. He question was answered with shrieks and the sounds of heavy objects crashing to the ground in a wave of sound and fury.

The phone rang again. Oliver picked it up as other agents raced towards the sound of the screams.

"Hear that, Oliver?" a cold voice said. "It's the sound of people dying. People being crushed to death as the walls cave in."

"You son of a bitch," Oliver snapped.

"Really. Be certain you look carefully…I think we may have left something quite precious in the basement…"

"Where?!"

"Remove the barricades, and I'll tell you. It's a shame really. Poor man won't know until the walls fall in on him, or the water downs him. Pity."

Oliver seethed. Though there were still a handful of agents in the hangar, many had gone to see about the building falling in upon itself.

"It's simple, Oliver. I leave, and the man lives. Keep me, and he dies."

"And Sarah? Miss Garcia?"

"They will accompany me for a time, just until I'm well out of reach."

"Bullshit!" Oliver shouted.

"What is it?" Morgan was now really concerned.

"This asshole wants us to let him go," Oliver said. "He plans to keep my sister and your girl as leverage, and he's threatening to kill someone else that's locked in a basement here somewhere…"

Morgan walked over and snatched the phone from Oliver, who was too emotionally involved to think straight at this point. "Hey," Morgan said calmly, looking up at the back windows of the plane. "You mind if I have a word with Garcia?"

"Of course I mind. You're one of hers, aren't you? Her people."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Then Oliver has told you."

"He did. But you see, there's another option."

"Another…really, my dear man, I don't see how…"

"We can just leave you in there. You're not coming out, and we can't get in, and the place is falling around our ears. We could just wait you out."

"Ludicrous."

"Oh? Really?" Morgan made a show of looking around at the agents who were still keeping their posts, their guards up. "You're gonna kill all of us anyway…"

"Now, you don't know that. But this I can promise--if you don't let me leave here, Miss Garcia will suffer quite needlessly. As will Miss Lawrence."

"And the guy you have in the basement, I suppose?"

"Yes. Mr. Parker will certainly be terrified before he dies, I am certain of that."

"No."

"No? You say this like the world's not ending, my dear man."

On that point, Morgan had to concede. The rumbles and explosions were getting louder, and it was becoming treacherous to even stand in the large hangar without being pelted by some small falling debris. The roof above them began to crinkle under the stress of the building materials falling on top of it.

"Then it is. But you know what? We'll all go together. Including you." With that, he hung up the phone.

"I hope you know what you're doing, for my sister's sake," Oliver said.

"Trust me, he'll come out," Morgan said.

And with that, they began to wait.

* * *

The embassy had been cleared, the body removed, and several preliminary statements had been taken with the promise of returning in the morning to finish up. No one noticed the small device that had landed on the roof of the embassy, lodged in a crevice near one of the building's decorative gables.

No one noticed, that is, until the small device blew up. A thin _pop_ emitted from the small container, and then the contents of the metal egg trickled down the roof, quietly eating a hole in the shingles and tile. Smoke poured from the edges that live material once occupied, and the first phase of destruction was complete.

From a plane nearly thirty thousand feet up, an unwilling pilot released a second container. It too fell to the earth, waiting to fall into the hole its cousin had created. This one contained a much more deadly toxin; nearly triple the potency of that which had sent France to its knees.

Inside the building, the shaken diplomats tried to recompose themselves, fervent in their belief that their work was now more urgent than ever if someone was willing to actually _kill_ them to keep the nuclear weapons and explosives treaty from taking shape, much less becoming international law.

Unbeknownst to them, however, a small hole was forming in the ceiling just above them, a waiting invite to the deadly toxin that was being dropped in from an unwilling assassin from above.

It wasn't until the first man fell writhing in pain, unable to breathe, that Ambassador Prentiss realized that the young woman with Agent Hotchner had been completely right—someone was indeed trying to kill them As she hurriedly tried to get help for the others, she too felt a wave of nausea strike her like a blow to the chest. The other diplomats inside were either lying motionless or crawling towards the giant room's exit.

The only question she had now was, who was _really_ behind all this?


	32. In a Small, Dark Space

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

In a small dark cubicle somewhere, Hotch sat at a long table, his hands neatly folded together and resting on top of the wooden surface. He'd been unceremoniously tossed inside this room, and the thick _slam_ of the weighted door was matched only by the deafening _click_ of the door's lock.

The room looked quite similar to the many interrogation rooms he'd been in during his years as both a prosecutor and as a profiler. The standard one-way glass sat in front of him, and he was certain there were people on the other side trying to either gain a little more information on him or trying to read him through the glass. It was now Hotch was glad he had learned to master his own emotions, and his 'drill sergeant' look was enough to throw anyone off as to how he really felt.

He glanced at the extremely dark, gray walls. Even the door was painted in this color, and it tended to suck all the warmth out of the room, even though the temperature was at about eighty-five degrees.

_It's over,_ he thought. _I hope to God that everyone's all right…_

* * *

In a similar room to the one Hotch occupied, Chase had actually lay out on the long wooden table and fallen asleep. She knew full well that a marathon of questions and allegations would ensue shortly, and she'd pounced on the chance to take herself a little nap.

_Been up since three this morning, and I was out at the Stackhouse until after midnight,_ she'd reasoned. _Not even God can go without sleep…_

Her chest fell and rose lightly as her breathing fell into a rhythm; her bright green eyes closed and the world began to evaporate into a welcome dark shroud. By the time her interrogators opened the door, she had escaped them into the land of dreams.

* * *

"Why Oh-lee-vair?" Josh barked. He'd been at Christian Hanover for more than three hours, and still the stubborn man refused to give them anything other than the scant information Josh had relayed to Oliver at the site.

"Fuck you," Christian said. "I want a lawyer."

"A lawyer, eh? You do realize we air charging you with terrorism and conspairacy to commit terrorism, yess?"

Christian shrugged. "Lawyer."

"You know pairfectly well that people chairged with terrorism do not 'ave the right to a lawyer."

"Then I'm standing mute. You already know everything you need to, so go bother the real guys in charge."

Josh heaved a long sigh. "Vairy well." He pulled out his phone and made a call. Christian noticed that the language Josh was speaking was definitely not English, though its base root he could not recognize. Josh gave a few sharp grunts, and then killed the line. He slowly rose from the hard, uncomfortable seat he'd been sitting in for hours and slowly made towards the door.

Christian looked at his former boss, his eyes suddenly wide with suspicion. "What was that about?" he asked.

"You air standing mute," Josh said simply. "And I am about to question others. Pairhaps they will be more forthcoming. This I cannot say. But you, with you I am through. Someone will be by to take you."

"Gitmo doesn't scare me, Josh. I'll survive."

"Gitmo?" Josh said with a small look of amusement. "No one said you were going there, sair. No, no, I 'ave other directives to follow with you, eencludeeng your eencarcaration." He paused. "Ah, well. I am finished with you. _Bonne chance._"

And with that, Christian watched his interrogator walk out the door. As the younger man stared at the dark gray walls, all of the false bravado he'd tried to build himself with had vanished.

He now felt more alone and vulnerable than ever.

* * *

Deep inside the tiny stone prison buried underneath the labyrinthine complex they'd been kept in, Kyle Parker began to notice the earth moving just a bit. Something small dislodged itself from the tall ceiling and pelted him in the head—not once, but three times.

Curious, he reached up, trying to determine if it was just age sending the debris crashing to the ground.

--"What's going on?"—he said, his long fingers moving as he spoke.

Jason had backed away into the opposite corner of the cramped space, the extremely dim light casting its shadow on a man whose face showed Kyle the true meaning of fear. The older man's lips moved faster than Kyle to read them.

--"Slow down!"-- Kyle called out, hoping he was understood. –"What's going on?!"—

Jason finally pointed up at the ceiling, then shook himself as if he were standing on a fault line. He then used his hands to imitate the shape of a building, and then allowed the 'building' to fall in on itself.

_Oh God…_

Jason was trying desperately to force the door open, to no avail. The locks that held it in place were as strong as ever, and even the door did not give way. Kyle took the four steps towards the door and began to help loosen it. It still wouldn't budge.

"What now?" Kyle asked.

He turned his head and saw Jason screaming. The older man's face was pointed towards the ceiling, and his throat vibrated.

Nothing happened. A few more pebbles fell from the solid ceiling.

Tapping Jason on the shoulder, Kyle asked, --"What does it look like out there?"—

"They didn't show you?"

--"I was blindfolded. What's out there?"-- Kyle knew the time for waiting had passed. As much as he believed in Chase, he knew he couldn't wait for her to help him this time.

"Long dark hallway, same as in here," Jason replied, trying to make sure Kyle could understand him. "Dim lights, one passage, one way in and out."

Kyle tried to imagine the schematic in his head. –"The hall,"— he said. –"What if that gets blocked by whatever's falling out there? What do you hear?"—

Jason's head had tipped slightly towards the solid door, his ear pressed against the steel barrier. He wiggled his fingers and pulled his hand downward in a short falling motion as he wiggled them. Kyle knew the sign meant 'rain' but understood what Jason was getting at.

The debris was falling outside the door too—possibly blocking it.

--"There was a hole in here, near the ceiling. They used it to pour water on me,"—Kyle said.

Both men then climbed on top of the low stone shelf that they'd sat on, their hands extended as high as they could reach, looking for any sign of the ceiling or the opening within it.

Their fingers grasped nothing but air. However, there was a steady current that spiraled downward towards them.

Jason looked at Kyle. Kyle looked at Jason. Both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

Together, they lifted their heads towards the air current and screamed.

* * *

In the remnants of what had been the screen room, a lone speaker still worked. It broadcast a loud shriek that could be heard over half a room away, then fell silent and broadcast another one. Parts of words could be made out, as well as desperate pleas for help. The red-haired tech, still commanding the post even as the place came crashing down around him, listened with bated breath at what the voices in the speaker were saying.

"Hel…us…trapped down…long ha…way…door locked…cei..ing caving…'s any..ne out there?!"

This message repeated itself, in various forms. The red-haired tech looked for a com button to try and talk to those people, but there was none to be found.

He tried a different tack, and traced the source of the signal. The few screens that remained functional showed a thin green line tracing itself from the 'screen room,' as the tech referred to it as, and a small point some several hundred feet below the surface. It was the last room down a single entrance hallway, not very near where the building itself was falling but near enough that the entrance to the hall could be permanently blocked.

Trying to avoid the massive debris that was still falling to the ground from the aftershock of the explosions, the tech made a very quick but important phone call.

"Agent Lawrence?" he said. "I think I found someone…"

* * *

Oliver hung up his phone. "We've got someone," he said, turning towards Morgan. "They're trapped in a subterranean room near here. One will get you twenty it's Kyle Parker."

"You go. I'll stay and wait for this asshole to decide he's gonna come out."

"You sure?"

"Hey, I can't talk to the guy. Much as I would like to."

Oliver turned to the remaining agents, of which there were nine. The rest had gone to deal with finding other survivors or apprehending more of the 'employees' of this little operation. After a few quick words, they returned to their posts surrounding the giant plane.

Oliver's instructions had been simple: Morgan was in charge, the plane didn't leave, and if it tried, aim for the tires, the propellers and the gas tanks. "It doesn't leave the ground, is that clear?"

His people had nodded their assent. Oliver spun on his heel, calling through his phone. "Now, tell me again how to get there…"

* * *

Inside the plane, things weren't much better. Patrick Callahan had had to blow his cover of 'returning' the women to where they'd come from, and was now holding them at gunpoint.

"Such a waste," he said. "The operation was to have been an unfailing success. And now all for nothing."

"Not nothing," Garcia said, her eyes still trained on the short barrel she still refused to believe in. "You could just let us go. It's not like…"

"Not another word," Patrick hissed. The gun fell from its targets, but only for a moment. "No, Miss Garcia, I do believe the only way to score at this juncture is to follow the Roman ideal."

Sarah's eyes widened. Her lips parted, turning her face into a shocked look of dread.

"What?" Garcia asked.

Before Sarah could answer, a shot rang out. The girl fell to the floor, crimson blooming from a hole near her chest. Garcia screamed, trying to both save her and keep herself from sharing 'the Roman ideal.'

"Don't…" she said, her eyes saying more than she could with her voice.

Suddenly two more shots rang out, and everything inside the plane fell silent.


	33. Quarentine

**Because I've been told by some that "I've left people hanging in the worst place," I offer up this addition. Next installment tomorrow, and hope you enjoy. Please leave lots of reviews for both chapters. :)**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Garcia didn't want to look up. She had curled herself over the injured Sarah, whose wound was still bleeding freely. There had been the shots, and then silence.

"Miss?" a voice asked. It was not the voice of the man who had shot Sarah. "Come, miss, let me see…"

Garcia refused to move. A hand tried gently to lift her from her protective stance over the girl.

"Miss, it's all right," the voice said. "I'm not going to hurt her."

"Open the doors," Garcia said at once. "Open the doors and let those people in here! She has to…"

"They're open."

The blonde woman turned to see a gaggle of welcome faces racing up the short steps. One face in particular knelt down next to Sarah, assessing the girl's condition. Within moments a call had been made and a familiar pair of hands took over for Garcia's bloodstained ones, trying to put pressure on Sarah's chest.

"Baby girl, you okay?" Morgan finally asked, after shouting more instructions to the faces that wove in and out of the plane.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but…" Her eyes fell down onto Sarah, who now began to breathe more rapidly. The pressure didn't seem to be helping.

"Where the hell is that medic?!" Morgan shouted, the urgency in his voice rising.

"Ollie?" Sarah asked, her voice weak.

"Hey, hang on, okay? We're calling for him," Morgan said, trying to put the girl at ease. Lifting his head, he shouted, "Someone find me Oliver Lawrence!"

Sarah's eyes began to roll back into her head.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no…" Garcia chanted, trying furiously to wake the girl. "No, no, he's coming, you're gonna be okay…"

Sarah woke, but only for a moment. "He…tried," she said, her breaths becoming more labored. "Tell him…I know he…tried. And…"

"Hey, now, none of that. You tell him yourself." Morgan's voice was trying to convince the girl of something they both knew to be false.

"And…it's not…his fault," Sarah continued. "He tried…"

Soon Sarah fell lifeless, a mass of flesh where a young girl once lay.

"Oh, no you don't," Morgan said, trying to revive her. Though he tried, his efforts were unsuccessful.

"She's gone, sir," said the pilot, who had been responsible for the final shots that found their way into Patrick Callahan's lower abdomen and right lung. He gently took Morgan's firm hands off of Sarah's still chest, trying to convince the man without words of a thing that they already knew.

"_Damn it!"_ Morgan cried, hit rage and sorrow now boiling over within him.

Next to him, Garcia cried, tears silently carving tracks over her face.

* * *

Oliver Lawrence made his way down to the sunken hallway, the path illuminated by only the tiniest pinpoints of light that were recessed into the wall near the floor. The ceiling of the hallway was buckling badly, though not so much that he could not pass through it. After about five minutes, he could hear faint noises coming from the last room on the right.

"Hey!" he called out, hoping he could be heard through the door. "Is anyone hurt in there?"

There was silence for a moment. Then a voice called back: "We're okay, just let us out before the place collapses!"

"There's two of you?" Oliver was surprised at this.

"Yeah. The other guy, he can't hear."

Oliver set to work on the door. It was bolted shut, and the large, thick bar was held in place by a giant padlock.

"Hey," Oliver called into his wire, which he'd almost forgotten about. "I need an extra pair of hands and bolt cutters—_right now_!"

"Yes, sir," a voice called back. "I'm sending someone down right away."

The ceiling shifted again, and debris fell like tiny particles of rain. "Hey!" the voice behind the door called out. "Let us out of here!"

"The door's bolted shut," Oliver cried back. "I need bolt cutters to open it!"

"Then hurry!"

"Listen, I'm not going anywhere, but it's gonna take a minute to get someone with the cutters."

"Can't you do something? Anything?"

"I shoot this thing, and it might just ricochet back and cause more problems," Oliver said. "Just hang on, okay?"

Another voice screamed, the voice garbled and thick.

"Who's that?"

"The other guy, Kyle," the voice said. "The lights just went out in here, and he's got a thing about the dark…"

"Who are you?" Oliver asked.

"Jason Hennessey," the voice replied. "You?"

"Oliver Lawrence. How long have you been here?"

"Six weeks," Jason replied. "Bastards made me build a plane and then tossed me in this hole as an 'incentive.'"

"Incentive?"

"They got my partner to fly it, using me as leverage. There's something on that plane--some kind of weapon…"

"What kind of plane did you build?"

"Completely different specs than anything on the market. Combination stealth and Cessna. My partner, he…he's only doing this to save my life. Someone need to get on the radio, tell him I'm all right.

"What's his name?"

"Steven Shaw. Tell him Jason's all right."

"Now that, I can do," Oliver promised. He spoke again into the wire. "Find a radio that's working in that room, Chad," he said. "It'll be on a frequency to a plane…"

* * *

Steven Shaw was just about to pick up the last of the small canisters with the robotic arm when a crackle emitted form his radio.

"Mr. Shaw?" a voice asked. It was not one he'd heard on this channel. "Mr. Shaw, this is the FBI. We know you're listening, and there's a message—we have Jason. He's going to be just fine."

Steven grabbed the microphone, jabbing the button with renewed hope. "You've got him? He's okay? Where is he? Let me talk to him!"

"Mr. Shaw, we're working on getting him out of a locked room at the moment. The people holding him have been captured. As soon as we get the door open, we'll have him talk to you."

"Thank God," Steven said, a cry of pure relief and joy escaping his throat. "Thank God…"

"Sir, we need to know your location. Please give us your coordinates and then fly directly to this location…" Chad, the red-haired tech, gave Steven directions to Andrews.

Steven gave him his location. "I don't know what was in these canisters, but please, send someone over to help those people…"

"Will do. Over and out."

Steven finally hit the manual override on the plane's control panel, and charted a course for home.

* * *

Thirty-thousand feet below, a room lay silent. Several people lay motionless, their faces contorted in agony. Several others had managed to crawl out, choking and gagging on their own fluids. Elizabeth Prentiss was among these latter few, managing to lead others outside towards the courtyard to safety.

It had taken a few minutes, but Ambassador Prentiss managed to steady herself enough to stand without falling over. The sound of sirens and the sight of flashing lights overwhelmed her, and before she could register what had happened she was being led out of the courtyard by people in bright yellow suits. Several of her fellow diplomats were being guided in the same manner towards waiting ambulances.

"There's…others…inside," Ambassador Prentiss said between coughs.

"We'll see to them, ma'am," a tinny voice replied. "Let's focus right now on getting you to the hospital."

On that note, the people in the suits sat the woman down in the ambulance, where a suited medic began asking questions and taking vitals as the doors swing shut and the vehicle raced off towards the hospital.

* * *

Reid paced the hallways near where Mo Li and his father slept. He would have liked to question the ambassador, but his English was only fair and in stressful situations his mind switched over to Cantonese.

"I will help in the translation," Mo promised, "but it must wait until tomorrow. My father needs his rest."

Reid had agreed. The surgeons had been able to remove the bullet from Li Xiao's wound, but there had been some damage to the large intestine that had had to be repaired.

"I can assure you that neither my father nor I will press charges against either Chase Davis nor the man with her," Mo had said solemnly.

"How can you promise that?" Reid had asked. "I mean, _we_ know they were coerced, but…"

"It is a matter for the Chinese courts. My father has some pull with them still, though he has lived abroad many years. Besides, I am certain my government will see Chasie's actions as being those of someone who was trying to save us from further harm, even death."

"Our government might see it as attempted murder," Reid said, his own voice solemn.

"I highly doubt that. There is proof, somewhere."

"International law?"

"Graduated from Georgetown, _summa cum laude._"

Reid smiled at the memory of the conversation. Mo Li still slept on.

Just then a flurry of doctors raced down the hall, the adjacent rooms a swarm of activity.

"What's going on?" Reid asked at the nurse's station, trying to dodge the onslaught of medics and doctors racing for the entrance.

"Toxin of some sort was released at an embassy," the nurse said. "Five people are coming in."

"Serious?"

"Can't say."

Reid watched as the patients were wheeled in, looking like they would die with every forced breath they took. Reid himself was evacuated back to Mo Li's room, and told to stay where he was—the rest of the hall was being put under quarantine.

"It's just until we get the quarantine area cordoned and sealed," Dr. Moliere said. "Our usual unit is much too small for something like this…"

"And the ambassador?"

"We've moved him up to five," the doctor replied. "With his injuries, he needs to be as far away from this as possible. Young Mr. Li will be fine, as long as he remains inside his room for the next few hours."

Reid heaved a sigh of relief. Then he thought about his own wound.

"Do we know how this transmits?" he asked.

"Airborne toxin, I think. But we can't be sure."

Reid pointed to the nasty egg on his scalp.

"I'll have someone in to have that dressed. Right now, just stay inside Mr. Li's room, and _do not_ come out until I give you the all clear."

Reid obeyed, and watched as the procession of the other four patients was wheeled in through the window of the room. The third one to pass by looked very familiar, like he'd seen her somewhere before…

_Ambassador Prentiss,_ he suddenly realized. _Emily's mother!_


	34. More Questions

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"What do you know about the toxeen, Miss Davis?"

Chase dozed on, her form still sprawled out on the table. A large hand pounded the wooden surface sharply, startling the young woman and bolting her upright.

"Sleep well?" her interrogator asked, his voice not warm but not full of ice either.

Chase scowled, but returned herself to the chair that faced the one-way glass. "Fine."

"Now, about the toxeen at the embassee…"

Chase frowned. "There _was_ no toxin at the embassy…"

"_Au contraire._ Five peeple air undair quaraintine, and three othairs air dead…"

"You lie. There's only one person dead, at the U.S. embassy."

The man's eyebrows raised a little. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I shot him."

"So, you air admitting to open murdair?"

Chase shrugged. "I'm admitting to killing the man, or one of the men, responsible for staging eight kidnappings for use as leverage."

Now her interrogator seemed curious. "Reelly, Miss Davis."

"No bullshit. And in the end, it seems it's all for nothing." Her face fell, downcast.

"Stairt at the beginning."

"You mean you actually _want_ to hear my end of it?"

"We already 'ave you, and on the murdair chairge no less. So, you tell a story. Pairhaps we learn something, yess?"

Chase heaved a sigh, and began by recounting the events from earlier in the day. She had worked her way up to the elevator when the man silenced her with a hand.

"You air saying that Agent Lawrence, a member of the FBI, took you forceebly from thees premises?"

"Yeah. Hey, you don't have to believe me. He almost took someone else as well."

"And 'oo might _that _bee?"

Chase gave Reid's name. "Ask him."

"Mmm. Pairhaps."

Chase's ire was beginning to boil, but a more pressing question had to be asked. "Are the people from the embassy all right?"

Her interrogator remained mute.

"Look, I just want to know…"

"Oh, so you can revel een your success? That you were able to take down a room full of deeplomats?"

"It's not like that…"

"Then, 'ow ees it? You say you were coearced. Yet you have not proven thees."

"Hmm. Let's see," Chase said, her anger turning into boldness. "An unknown person or persons take my partner out of _his own apartment_ last night, then have the audacity to call me up and tell me "I'll be doing them a favor." I learn that another friend, from the FBI, has gone missing, and from about six this morning I'm in her office, prodding someone to help find her. Then I have this Lawrence guy, who, I'm betting, is one of yours, decide that the _elevator_ is the perfect place to stage a kidnap coup."

"But why you, Miss Davis?" the man in front of her said. "Why not…"

"Oh, fucked if I know."

A hand slammed the table again. "We 'ave you on thee murdair chairge. I like you for terroreesm. Please, settle down or I will 'ave you sent down at once."

Chase heaved another exasperated sigh. "Look. Lawrence said he got a phone call—these people that took my partner, and the woman from the FBI, they also took his little sister. Same deal as before—he did a 'favor' for them, he got her back."

"What was thees, thees _favor_?"

"Apparently, bringing me to where everyone else was being kept. He had some strange orders too—he had to bring me, and 'anyone else with me'—hence Dr. Reid's predicament."

"And yet 'e did not give the doctor to them. Eenteresting."

"Well, that was me."

"And I am supposed to belieeve you air not part of thees?! You _changed_ the ordair?"

Chase blanched a little. She knew perfectly well how it sounded. "More like we convinced Lawrence to 'forget' about Dr. Reid being there, so that they had a resource to use later in finding the missing people."

"'e agreed?"

"Yeah. For him, the major point of his 'order' was being carried out—I agreed to go over to the people behind this."

"As an ally."

"No. As a prisoner myself."

"Convieeneent."

Chase shook her head, an exasperated look on her face. "Look. You've got me. I'll admit to the murder of that asshole at the embassy. I'm not sorry for it, either. Considering what he had over my head, he got off lucky."

"Very well. Then please, explain: what was Agent 'otchnair doing thair, with you, at the embassee."

"Same deal that those bastards had me for."

"Wheech was?"

Chase heaved a sigh. "We had to kill _all_ of the diplomats at the summit."

"And why not just do thees themselves? Why, eef we are to belieeve you, did they 'choose' you and Agent 'otchnair speceefeecally?"

Chase shrugged. "Best guess? They knew we had the ability to do such a thing. Plus, when the dust settles, their own hands are nowhere near this. Apparently they tried a similar tack in France last year."

Her interrogator's eyes widened. "What ees this?"

"A friend informed me of a group working out of the U.S., one that wants to gain access to nuclear weapons and the like. My guess is, they're kind of Napoleonic in their pursuits. He said last year in France there was a well-publicized attack on another embassy there, in which toxic gas was used. Others were shot. Nineteen people died."

"And thees, thees 'friend"…

"Probably recovering from the knife wound I gave him earlier."

Her interrogator's eyes widened again at that remark. "You tried to keel 'im?"

"And his father, though again, not of my own choice."

"'oo are these people?"

Chase stood mute.

"'oo are they?!"

Again, Chase said nothing.

The rage boiled over in the man interrogating her, but he was quick to keep it in check. "Vairy well," he said. "Eef you will not tell me, pairhaps Agent 'otchnair will…"

"In the end, does it matter?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Does it matter? These people, they won. They're off the hook for these attempts—they succeeded in framing others for the work. My partner is probably dead—murdered for my boldness. So is my friend from the FBI. Four others are as well, most like, because I got caught and didn't 'play by the rules.'" She looked her interrogator square in the eye. "There's nothing left for me." She let her eyes fall down towards the table. "Nothing…"

With that, her interrogator left the small room. "Watch 'er," he said to the two guards standing behind the one-way glass. "She may try sometheeng yet…"

* * *

In another room, a similar grilling was taking place. One of Josh's colleagues was trying to get information out of Hotch, but with little success. Aside from a retelling of what he knew (which, admittedly, was very little), Hotch chose to stand mute. Though terrorism suspects were not entitled to legal counsel, they couldn't take the lawyer out of him.

Just as he was preparing for yet another round of circling the drain of information, a new face walked in. The man was round, and he spoke with a distinctive accent.

"My name ees Agent 'ollenbeck," the man said crisply. "I need to know about the eenceedent at the embassee…"

Hotch was taken by surprise. "Which one?" he asked.

"There were more than the murdair and the gassing?"

"Gassing?" Hotch's face was drawn up in a confused look.

"Cairtainly. Two peeple air dead. Othairs are probably to die. Thees ees what you were 'oping for, yess?"

"Absolutely not."

"Your friend, the gairl, she says that _she_ ees responseeble for the murdair."

Hotch baked, then thought through the events in his head. He had shot out a water pitcher…

"Yes," he said slowly. "She _did_ shoot that man…"

"And you were her scout?"

"No. I was supposed to kill the diplomats below, just like she was."

"Then, please, tell me—eef that was your 'ordair,' why then did she kill the man only, and not the deeplomats?"

"She recognized him from somewhere—I didn't get all of it at the time…"

"She shot a man whom you could not place? Why then did you not continue with the 'ordair'?

"I don't kill people," Hotch snapped.

"But, you were, eh, 'coearced," yess?"

Hotch began to argue, then stopped. His mind swam to the thought of his son, who might now be lying dead along with Haley…

"Oh, God," he said. He then fell into silence.

"Oh, no, sair," Agent Hollenbeck said. "You will tell me now, 'oo else your friend 'shot.'"

"Chinese embassy. Two people, friends of hers. One of them was the ambassador himself, I think. They were supposed to be leading the summit at the U.S. embassy…"

The man left the room, and Hotch's mind began to play the devil's game with him. He knew he was not responsible for what had happened over the course of the day—he'd been coerced, threatened to do these horrible things.

The trick now was, would anyone believe him?

* * *

Outside the hall, Josh pondered the state of affairs for a moment. Oliver Lawrence had had a hand in this—it had been confirmed by both Christian Hanover and now Chase Davis. He knew that Hanover was certainly a traitor, but Davis…

"Go to thee Chinese embassy at once," he told a waiting colleague, one he knew he could trust. "Find out what happeened there. Eef there is no one, start calleeng thee 'ospitals. There is more to this than we see…"


	35. All for Nothing

**Break's over. Please leave lots of reviews--they are much appreciated!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

It was now past one in the morning. As the dark of night began to settle in, Steven Shaw landed the small plane near the tenth hangar at Andrews. He still had the last container of whatever-it-was that he'd been forced to drop on that building. Before he could retrieve it, though, a flood of bright lights swarmed near the aircraft and loud shouts startled him.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" he called out to the voices that demanded he exit the plane at once. "Don't shoot me, for God's sake!"

One of the agents actually climbed _inside_ the plane, holding his weapon steady. "Easy, there," the man warned. "Put down the container and come out slowly…"

"Take it," Steven said. "Whatever's in there, it's what they had me drop all over that building in D.C. I don't know what's in it, but I'm sure it's not good…"

"Okay. Just set it down and I'll have hazmat look at it," the agent replied. Steven watched as the agent called back to someone through a radio poised on his shoulder. "Yeah, we have a sample. That woman remember what she used to make it?" A crackling squawk erupted from the device. "Uh huh. Okay."

Steven remained motionless, his hands in the air. "You can have it," he said. "Just, please, tell me—is Jason all right?"

"They're still trying to get him out."

Steven wasn't stupid. Something like that usually was code for 'we couldn't save him.' His face fell, and his heart plummeted into his stomach.

"It's all for nothing," he muttered as he was led out fo the craft and into a waiting SUV. "For _nothing…_"

* * *

In the stone dungeon, Kyle Parker was freaking out. His breathing was erratic, his heart was beating a mile a minute, and there was more dust and pebbles falling from the ceiling somewhere. Every pelt from the debris made him jump a little, and when a small stone hit him he was certain he'd cried out.

Kyle's hands moved a mile a minute. Some times he was pleading with some unseen person to help them, other times they were looking for the man who was trapped with him in this tiny hole—Jason, he'd said his name was. Right now Jason was standing near the door, but for what reason he didn't know.

--"What's going on?"— he cried out. –"Is someone there? Please, let us out!"—

Something brushed against him. It was something warm and soft. A hand. It clapped onto his shoulder and held on.

--"Is someone there?"— Kyle asked again. The pitch blackness made it impossible for him to read lips, and he knew Jason knew no sign.

The hand put Kyle's hand onto Jason's head, which was moving up-and-down quickly.

--"Thank God. Tell them to hurry!"—

Another nod.

Kyle reached out for the door, hoping to be able to tell if someone was trying to open it. He placed his hand flush with the thick metal, and to his surprise there was the tiniest bit of vibration near the right-hand side of the barrier. It was an erratic vibration, coming in starts and stops. A few minutes later, something hit the metal hard, and something else began pulling on it.

A few more minutes later, and the door wrenched free. Kyle's eyes worked to adjust to even the extremely dim light that still shone in the dark corridor, and the younger man heaved in great gulps of the fresh air that still lingered in the quickly crumbling space.

Another hand took his—it was not one Kyle recognized—and slowly the small party made its way through the collapsing hallway. About five seconds after the four reached the entranceway, the ceiling in the corridor collapsed, leaving only a pile of rubble where Kyle and Jason had once been trapped.

The light grew brighter, and Kyle allowed himself to be led out of that horrible place to give his eyes time to adjust. He felt like one of those deaf-blind people in a way—he couldn't hear the things around him, and his sight was so out of sorts he couldn't rely on it. Finally the small group reached the surface, and though night had set in, Kyle relished the cool breeze that blew over him.

"Thank you," he said, certain his rescuers couldn't speak sign.

--You're welcome,-- a pair of hands said. It was the ones that had pulled him out of that godawful hole.

--You sign?!—

--My mother was deaf. Learned it from her.—

--Thank God. Where's Chase?—

--Who?—

--"Chase Davis,"— Kyle said again, voicing it as well as signing. –My partner. Where is she?—

The look on the man's face said he really didn't want to tell him.

--It's okay,-- he signed. –I can take it.-- He held his breath, fearing the worst.

--She's in federal custody, at Quantico.—

The look on Kyle's face said it all. –What's she doing there?—he signed, his expression changing to one of deep confusion.

--We're trying to figure that out.—

The next thing Kyle knew, he was being led towards a large, open metal room. Inside of it was a small plane, with lots of official-looking people milling around it. A few of the faces he recognized, and there was a certain blonde woman he knew instantly.

"Garcia," he called out, hoping he could be heard. The woman didn't seem to notice him—she was staring hard at the concrete floor of the space, and her head never looked up. Another man Kyle recognized tapped her on the shoulder, and she picked her head up. Her eyes were red, and the look on her face was unmistakable.

Kyle rushed over, as did the man who'd pulled him out of the dungeon. –"What's wrong?"— he asked. –"It's Chase, isn't it? Something's happened…"—

Garcia shook her head. She then looked at the man with her—Kyle remembered his name was Morgan—and the two said something Kyle couldn't quite catch.

The man next to him paled. His face flashed from disbelief to anger to sorrow in less than a second. His feet took off flying, and he stopped a pair of medics pulling out a stretcher. The person laying on top of it had a white cloth draped over their entire frame, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what that meant.

Kyle watched as his savior looked to be arguing with the medic, then looking as though he'd been hit with a club in the stomach, then grabbing hold of the hand on the stretcher. The tears that rolled down the man's face were unmistakable. They were the same tears that Chase had cried, all those years ago, when her parents died. He'd seen them again when Ben was murdered. He'd even cried them himself when his mother died a couple of years ago.

He turned to Garcia, who was sitting alone. Morgan had gone to talk with and console the sobbing man. "Who was that?" he asked.

Garcia fingerspelled her reply. S-I-S-T-E-R.

* * *

In a small, dark room, Chase sat staring at an old wooden table. The deep cuts and grooves in it were the entire focus of her world at this point.

Kyle was dead. On this point she was absolutely certain. They'd murdered him, and most likely Garcia as well, because she'd had to follow her conscience instead of her 'orders.'

The brash, carefree, confident woman was gone. In her place sat a woman who simply wondered how long it would take to find the people responsible for their deaths, and to make them suffer.

In the end, it would not be her that would hand out that punishment. They had already taken care of that. With her luck, she'd be in Gitmo within a week.

Chase thought about the things she'd done over the course of the day. She'd attacked two Chinese nationals, one of them the ambassador to the United States. She'd had to put herself in the position of an assassin at the U.S. embassy, being only a hair's breadth away from killing even more innocent people at the cost of saving the one person she would even _think_ of doing such a thing to protect.

And now that man had said those people had been gassed to death…

Chase stared at her hands. Her hands were capable of so many things. Talking. Laughing. Fixing problems. Finding things.

And now they had committed murder. Not sanctioned murder, or even murder to save a life. Just plain, cold-blooded murder.

_At least Agent Hotchner is off the hook,_ she thought to herself. _Too many people depend on him—I couldn't have that. No, I took that shot, and nearly killed my friends—all because in the end, I'm the one with nothing really to lose._

She thought about Kyle, a usually happy man who liked doing 'side work' with Chase. She'd been hesitant about letting him into that part of her world—he had family, after all—but in the end it had worked out better than she'd hoped. And a lot of people had been helped along the way…

She thought now about Kyle's funeral. Much of the school would be there. His dad and his brother would have to plan it. They would learn why he'd died, and probably curse her name with their last breaths. She thought of Beth Carrier, who'd just buried one love of her life and would now have to bury the man who'd been trying to repair that hole in her heart.

_All this, because of me,_ Chase thought grimly. She stared at the one-way glass, her eyes switching between a blank stare and a taunting one.

_Just get it over with,_ she thought. She didn't think her thoughts and emotions could decend any lower than they were at that point.

Just then the man reappeared, settling his large frame into the ridiculously tiny chair for his size.

"There ees more to thees story than you air telling us," he said, startling Chase out of her misery.


	36. Statements

**The reviews are lovely. Please continue to enjoy and review!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"What?"

"There ees more you air not telling us," Josh repeated. "I 'ave spoken with Agent 'otchnair. 'e tells me you air friendlee with the Chineese ambassador," Josh said. "Ees thees true?"

Chase knew this could go one of two ways—either it could work to her advantage, or it could blow up in her face. "And if I am?"

"Then you might explain why you did not mention thees earlair."

"I nearly killed the man!" Chase shouted. "A man I respect, and I had to almost kill him…"

"Why 'almost?' Why not just…eh, 'do thee job?'"

"I don't kill people."

"Hmm." A bemused smile washed slightly over Josh's face.

"What?"

"Thees ees almost verbateem what Agent 'otchnair said."

"He's right. He didn't. At least, not today."

"Thees also strikes me," Josh said. "Why you? Why not allow Agent 'otchnair, 'oo 'as a well-documented 'istory of marksmanship, to take the shot? Why deed _you_ deecide to, eh, 'play the martyr?'"

Chase looked at the large man who stared at her curiously. _Is this guy serious?_ she thought.

"He has more to lose than I." It was the only explanation she gave.

"Hmm."

"Look, it doesn't matter. I killed the bastard. And now my partner is dead. In the end, what happens to me isn't all that important, is it? What matters is, you lot have someone to crucify in your reports and in the press." She folded her arms in front of her, and stood mute.

Josh got up from the table. "I steel 'ave more questions," he said.

--Good for you,-- Chase signed. She wasn't saying anything else.

The older man looked again at her curiously. "What was that?"

Chase waved a hand nonchalantly, her mind elsewhere.

A tap on the steel door startled Josh. He opened it to find a strange little man in horn-rimmed glasses standing outside.

"Do you not know that eenterrogations air not to bee deesturbed?" Josh snapped, nearly taking the man's head off.

"Sorry," he said shortly. "They sent me to tell you that everyone's back."

"Everyone?" Josh looked puzzled.

"Yeah. On ten? And they brought a lot of people in you _really_ need to talk to…"

Josh huffed impatiently. "Vairy well," he snapped. Turning to the guards, he repeated again the order to make sure the two prisoners did not try anything. Then he followed the strange little man up from the basement towards the tenth floor.

* * *

"I wanna kill him," Oliver said, his face full of rage. "Pilot didn't shoot the bastard in the right places…"

"Where's Reid?" Emily asked.

"I _told _him to _stay here_," Rossi called back. "He's in no condition to be out, even if he thinks otherwise…"

"Stubborn as ever," Morgan said, half to himself.

The tenth floor had become a zoo. The team managed to bring in the 'captives' that had been liberated from the compound in Silver Spring, and statements were being take as they spoke. Oliver Lawrence had to be forcibly sat down next to Kyle Parker so his statement could be taken, but the agent was too absorbed in his own grief to even think straight.

"Oliver," Morgan said. "Are you up for this? 'Cause we can wait until find Reid—he's not too bad at this signing thing…"

"I just…need a minute…"

"Okay." To Kyle he pointed towards a chair in the round-table room, one of the few places left where an interview was not taking place. "Sit there, and we'll be back," he said, making sure to speak clearly and slowly.

Kyle nodded and took the seat. --"Where's Chase?"-- he asked, signing as he spoke. --"She would be in custody here, right?"—

"Yeah," Oliver said, nodding his head.

--"She can translate."—

--"She's being questioned."—

--Suspect?-- he asked, looking straight at Oliver.

--Yes.—

Kyle's face turned the same color of white Oliver's had in the hangar. He fished out a scrap of paper and scribbled a name and number on it. –"Call this person,"— he said. –"They can translate too, if you need one. I know it's late."— He knew his voice must be hoarse or thick, as neither Morgan nor Oliver looked as though they quite understood.

Morgan took the scrap and left the office. Oliver sat next to him, his misery still evident on his face.

--I'm sorry,-- Kyle said.

Oliver managed a small look. --She was twenty years old,-- he signed. –It was my job to look after her. Fucked that one right up, didn't I?—

--You can't save everyone.—

--"What?"—

--I keep telling my friend that, too,-- Kyle explained. –She has this…_thing_…she keeps thinking she has to save everyone from whatever problem they have. It's like, if she can save one person, maybe she can make up for losing everyone else that was close to her.—

--I don't follow…--

--My friend's parents died in a car accident when we were fifteen. She didn't have anyone else, so she went to live with a close friend of the family. She blamed herself for the accident at first—she claimed that had her parents not needed a break from her, they'd still be alive. Never mind that the person driving the other car was drunk off his ass, or had had three DUI's and a revoked license. She thought it was _her_ fault.—

--So?—

--Well, then the man she went to live with was murdered six years ago. No one ever found out who did it; not that the county sheriff's office was looking too hard. She thinks that if she'd been home, she could have prevented it.—

--More than like, she'd be dead too.—

--You tell her that.— Kyle looked Oliver square in the eyes. –This is not your fault. None of it.—

Oliver scoffed. –My mother's last wish was that I look after my little sister. And I tried. I tried so hard…-- Oliver's hands faltered as he lost control of his grief. The long fingers that had been forming words now covered a pair of glistening eyes.

Kyle smacked his hand down on the table, startling Oliver. –No. That man killed her. He did it because he has, or had—is he even dead?—absolutely no regard for life. These people used the one things that binds us in the best ways and used it against us. _All _of us. You think that Chase really would do anything to hurt another person if she hadn't been coerced? I don't care what you all say she's done. She doesn't hurt people on purpose. Not those who haven't done anything wrong.—

Kyle watched as his words sank into Oliver's thoughts. The older man composed himself a bit.

--You're right.—

--I am?—

--Yes. The woman I met in the elevator was more concerned with no one getting hurt or put in harm's way…except for herself.—

--That's Chase for you.—

Oliver pulled up a piece of paper. –All right, then,-- he signed. –Let's get to that statement.—

Kyle picked up his hands and let them begin to tell their story.

* * *

The snippets of statement that Josh heard as he walked into the BAU bullpen was enough to convince him that there was clearly something larger at work. His own offices on the fourteenth floor had had to be closed off due to investigation into Christian Hanover's dealings with this so-called 'organization' that led to all of this heartache and commotion.

"It was like I woke up in someone else's house," a small woman said. "The next thing I knew, there was this…this _guy_ telling me that I was a 'guest' of his and that I would have to make a certain type of compound for him if I wanted to go home. When I refused, told me that 'it would be a pity to see your brother shot' because I 'couldn't help'…"

A younger man nearby was trying to gather his bearings. "I was asleep," he insisted. "I woke up, and there was nothing but green surrounding me."

"And you knew something was wrong?" someone asked. It was Agent Rossi.

"My bedroom is painted off-white, for starters," the young man said. "And I know what my furniture and my room layout looks like."

"So you woke up…"

"Yeah, and there's this man in a suit standing there next to the bed. He tells me my name, where I live, and that in order to leave I have to help some of his people smuggle in weapons to the U.S. Embassy…"

"Weapons?"

"They never said what they were. I never left that room, except under heavy guard to take a bath, and even then I was blindfolded."

"Then how were you supposed to…"

"Help them? By allowing them access to the embassy. They needed codes, passwords—I wouldn't be surprised if they cloned my entrance card."

"Did you give them these things?"

The younger man's face fell. "I didn't want to. It would've been treason. It _is_ treason."

"But you did?"

"If I didn't, the man told me that his colleagues would leave my father lying in a pool of his own blood, right in his own house. My father is a good man, sir, and a better diplomat…"

Josh hurried on towards the landing, catching a few snippets from a heavy blonde woman in pink pajamas.

"I woke up, and at first I thought I was still home," she said. "Then Kyle…"

"Kyle Parker," a raven haired woman confirmed. Josh remembered her name as Emily.

"Yeah. He was trying to wake me up. I think they gave me something…"

"Okay, Garcia. You're doing great. Now, what did these people ask you to do, exactly?"

"They wanted me and Kyle to hack into our own systems, though I can't figure why."

"Your security is pretty sophisticated."

"What do you expect?" the woman called Garcia smiled, though without mirth. "Cybergoddesses have to have something to stand on…"

"The order, Garcia…"

"Yeah. They told us we were supposed to 'help' them break into our systems—I don't know exactly what they were looking for, but I know Kyle was mad when they had him access a certain set of files…"

Josh hurried over towards an open office, where yet another interview was being conducted.

"…they had me making these little containers, something to hold something in. I don't know what was supposed to go in them, but it had to be leakproof and able to drop from a great height."

"And you made them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because if I didn't, they told me the next thing I saw would be my father's picture in the papers, dead by what they would make look like suicide." The man faltered a bit. "Dad's getting on in years, but he's not suicidal. But who would believe it if I argued the point?"

The man—one of Josh's, a red-haired tech named Chad—shook his head. Josh knew this interview would hold water—he trained his people to give bulletproof interviews and interrogations. Everything had to hold up in court, because it might be the difference between executing a murderer and letting him walk free on technicalities.

"They also insinuated hat they might make it look like _I_ killed him if I 'protested too much…'"

"Interesting choice of words."

"Yeah, I'm not much for remembering conversations, but those particular words struck me. It's a line from Shakespeare, I think, but I couldn't tell you from where…"

Just then six more agents plowed through the glass doors, leading in a tall man in handcuffs. Like many of the others being interrogated, this one looked morose—but more so than the rest.

"This one's the pilot," another of Josh's people called out. "He gave us the last container--it's going over to CDC right now. Those people over in quarantine need some answers fast…"

"Then, what air you waiting for?" Josh shouted. "_Vamanos!_" To the others still surrounding the morose man, he said, "Come, come. In here."

_Obviously there really is more to this than a simple gassing and execution, _Josh thought. What worried Josh was this—how had these people managed to pull it all off? And were there more still out there?

As he passed by the round-table room, he saw the sight of Oliver Lawrence moving his hands rapidly at another young man about Oliver's age. Josh's thoughts briefly turned to his young protégé, and he remembered what Hanover and the Davis woman had told him.

_Oliver, say it's not true, _he thought as he walked the so-called 'pilot' to an adjacent office. _Did you really do these horrible things? _


	37. What Happens Now?

**Thanks for the reviews. It's getting towards the end, though I'm not sure when that will be, exactly...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"You got thees phone call when, exactlee?"

"About six weeks ago," Steven replied. It was the third time he'd been asked the question. "I didn't recognize the voice. A man on the other end of the line told me that Jason was 'working for them' for a while."

"Wass thees normal for heem?"

"Kind of."

"Explain, please."

"Jason's a freelance airline mechanic, has experience on pretty much anything that can fly," Steven said. "Hell, he _built_ the one your people pulled me out of!"

"He built it?" The man, whose name was Hollenbeck, seemed very interested.

"Just as soon as he finished, they dragged him off to some godforsaken hole or room in that place, telling both of us that if I didn't 'follow orders' I'd never see him again. Do you know what that's like, Agent Hollenbeck? To know right then that you have to do something you really don't want to do just to save the one person you love most?"

The agent's face was expressionless. There was something, though, that danced near the middle of the man's eyes…

"What wass the ordair?"

"I had to fly the plane to a predetermined location, and drop those things on top of the building. I never got a chance to touch them until I got the all clear from your people. I don't know what's in them."

"Hmm."

"What _was_ in them?"

"We do not know thees yet."

"Where's Jason?"

"I'm sorry?"

"The guy on the radio…he said they were trying to get him out of some room," Steven clarified. "Where is he? Is he hurt? Is he all right? Did something happen to him?"

"'old on a moment…" The agent, who had patiently taken Steven's statement, stepped out of the small office to speak with someone.

Steven thought about what would happen to him now. He was certainly going to jail, if not to Guantanamo Bay, probably within hours. The people in that building were desperately ill, he'd later learned, and there had been some sort of poison inside the containers he'd been forced to drop…

"Mr. Shaw?" the agent said, startling Steven out of his thoughts.

"Yes?"

The door opened wider, and in ambled a thin, tall figure. His clothes were damp, and covered in dust and dirt, and his face looked like hell, but a pair of warm eyes were flooded with both joy and relief.

"Jase!" Steven crossed the small room and wrapped his arms around the tall man, his grip so tight he had to remember that Jason was hurt.

"Steve," Jason said, just as estatic to see him. Tears were falling down the man's face, and it was clear he didn't care who saw them.

"You're all right," Steven said, amazed.

"Yeah. Stupid bastards tried to implode the place on top of us."

"What happened?!"

"Explosions were going off from somewhere. I was stuck in this tiny closet with another guy—it was worse for him than it was for me, really—and the door was locked. This guy, Oliver, he got us out…"

"Let me see," Steven said, studying Jason's face. There were some small abrasions and a couple of bruises, but otherwise the man was fine.

"I'm okay, Steve."

"Really?"

"Well…"

"Yeah," Steve said softly. "Me too."

It was another fifteen minutes before the two men realized they'd been left alone in the office. There was, however, the shadow of guards standing just outside the door.

"What happens now?" Jason asked. "I mean, they say there's a bunch of people sick…"

"I know," Steven replied. "I'm the one responsible for that…"

* * *

Kyle had finally set his hands down. It had taken over two and a half hours to tell his version of events, but in the end he felt a deep sense of relief. Now all he had to do was find Chase, and they'd be back in Campbell within the hour. There was some changing of his firewalls and passwords he needed to do before he could turn in…

--Where's Chase?— the young man asked again.

Oliver looked up. –I don't honestly know,-- he replied. –I know they go down to interrogation, but after that…--

--Could you find out?—

Oliver turned his head and shouted. Though what he said was lost to the silent man, Kyle knew he was calling for answers to his simple question.

_Finally, someone who can talk to me _and_ will give me a straight answer,_ he thought.

A few moments passed, and a red-haired man appeared at the door. Oliver said something to the man, who then disappeared.

--We're looking her up. I'm not going to lie to you; she's being charged with first degree murder and several counts of terrorism and attempted murder right now.-- Oliver's face said it all—he was truly sorry.

--What?!-- Kyle's shock was palpable.

--She confessed, at least to the murder.—

--She didn't do it. Not by choice, anyway.—

--Apparently, that's not what she's saying.—

--This is ridiculous,-- Kyle's fingers snapped off. –I've got to find her…--

* * *

JJ continued speaking with Susan Howell, who had admitted to making a 'compound' of sorts for her captors.

"What was it supposed to do?" the blonde liason asked.

"It was supposed to concentrate a poison to a specific area," Susan explained. "Kind of like applying hydrochloric acid to a wall using a thick smoke instead of just pouring a liquid."

"Is that what it was? Hydrochloric acid?"

"Oh, no. There's about five other ingredients…I made sure to remember which ones I'd used, because I hoped to make an antidote. It's really rather simple, all I have to do is…" Susan listed off about seven bases she'd need to counteract the poison she'd been forced to create. "How many people are dead?" she asked.

"Listen, let's not concentrate on that right now…"

"No," Susan said firmly. "I want to know who I'm responsible for killing. For making that, that _poison_ that I knew would kill people…" The small woman nearly broke down in shame and grief.

"Hey," JJ said, just as firmly. "You didn't want to do all that…"

"No, but I did it anyway. And all to save Jimmy…" The woman finally broke down in tears.

JJ looked on at Susan as the smaller woman tried to recompose herself. "Get me those things, and I can have an antidote within two hours," she said.

"Okay," JJ said, grabbing a sheet of paper. "Now, tell me again…"

* * *

The quarantine had been up for nearly four hours. Reid was beginning to pace like a caged animal inside Mo Li's room. For his part, the young Chinese man was still asleep, oblivious to what was happening around him.

Reid had tried to call over to the office, or at least get Morgan or Rossi a message on what was happening on his end, but the phone at the nurses's station could be a thousand miles away for all the good it was doing him. His cell phone had been taken and checked in before he'd been allowed to enter the floor, and Mo's room did not have a working telephone.

_So this is how we're all going to die,_ the young agent thought. _Not by bullets or bloodshed, but by a little toxin or gas that will cause us to writhe in pain and then slowly cease to exist. Brilliant._

"Mmm," a small tone echoed, coming off of Mo's lips.

"Hey," Reid said. "Welcome back."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About three hours. Are you in pain?"

"A little. Mostly, I wish to see my father. How is he?"

"Doing just fine, or so they tell me," Reid replied. In the few hours he'd known Mo Li, he found it was easy to talk with him. There was a calmness and personality to the man that made him easy to understand and feel welcome near.

"You have not seen him?"

Reid explained briefly about the quarantine.

"Oh," Mo said after he learned about it. "The diplomats, they are all right?"

"I'm not sure. They brought four in, one of whom I know—Elizabeth Prentiss. She didn't look too good, at least from in here."

"Ambassador Prentiss?"

"Yeah."

"You've met?"

"I work with her daughter. She's a friend, and the Ambassador seems all right, as far as that goes."

"Without her, the summit could not have taken place," Mo said. "I hope she remains well…"

"You said the summit was on nuclear weapons, right?"

"Also other types of weapons of mass destruction. We were trying to get their use banned, and this summit would have been a start in the right direction."

"Other types? Like biologicals, chemicals, that sort of thing, yeah?"

"Yes."

Reid paced, looking like he wanted to spring out of the room.

"Is something the matter?"

"I can't call out. There's no phone."

"Surely your mobile…"

"Not allowed in hospitals."

Mo looked around his small room. "They seem to have skipped this one for phones, haven't they?"

"Yeah. And I can't go out there, because of this…" Reid tipped his head forward to show his own bandaged head.

"How did you aquire that?"

"Someone ambushed me on an airfield earlier today. They left me this."

"Really."

"Hey," said Reid, thinking back to that point a moment. "Do you know of anyone who drives a long white car with diplomat plates?"

Mo thought on the matter a moment. "Actually, we do…but only for formal visits. My father often prefers a simple black sedan. Why?"

"Because while I was at the airfield this afternoon, a long white car pulled in. I knew there was something strange about it…"

"It's the windows. They're made with a special tint, plus they're bulletproof. So is the rest of the car."

"I knew it." A smile crossed Reid's face for the first time all day.

"About this car…"

"I think the man who was driving it drove another man out to the field, who later hit me in the head. I just can't reconcile the matter any other way."

"You're saying that there is a spy inside my father office?"

"I'm thinking that might be the case," Reid mused. "You said you called Chase Davis about security—when was that?"

"About 1:30 Tuesday morning. I wanted her to take a day to consider the job, and then come in this afternoon."

"Did anyone know you were going to call her?"

"Only my father. He keeps things close to the chest."

"Was anyone with you when you placed the call?"

"No. Though, there is something…"

"What?"

"Clicking. There was a clicking on the line, like someone was on and then off again, very fast."

"Hmm…" Reid's thoughts began working a mile a minute.


	38. Reunion

**Two new chapters up. Hope you continue to enjoy.**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

The team had finally finished taking everyone's statements. It seemed the planners of the little operation out of Silver Spring were cleverer than anyone had thought.

"Each of the Howells said pretty much the same thing," JJ said as the team gathered in a spare interrogation room on eleven. "Susan said she was supposed to make that toxin in order to keep her brother from being killed, and James says he was supposed to 'deliver' parts from a top-secret plane being built over at Andrews."

"How'd he manage that?" Rossi asked.

"Apparently he switched some mailing tags and placed a few 'extra' orders for parts. He then had to give them to a man driving a long white car…"

"The car Reid and I saw," Oliver said, leaning against the gray wall. He found that standing was keeping him both awake and focused on the immediate problem. "What did they have on him?"

"They told James that if he didn't 'cooperate' they'd kill his sister with one of her own poisons," JJ replied. "Each one only has the other, as far as family goes."

"Says a lot," Rossi mused. "Emily, what did Garcia say?"

"Garcia said she woke up in one of those rooms—the white one, to be exact—and was there with Kyle Parker," the woman replied. "Later, both of them were told to hack their own systems for information. Garcia couldn't figure it out…"

"Hey, we've seen the security she runs on that thing," Morgan pointed out. "I'm surprised Kevin Lynch was able to get in…"

"I think that has more to do with them being close than him being better than her," Emily said with an impish smile. Growing serious, she continued, "However, she said they seemed real interested in some files on Chase Davis that Kyle has in his system…"

"Yeah," Oliver said, picking up. "He said the files they were looking at involve a 'job', I guess? Was what he called it, anyway…"

"She does some interesting work on the side," JJ confirmed.

"Apparently. Anyway, the files had to do with a shooting some eight years ago—had to do with an assassination of some guy the CIA was looking at…"

"Really?" Everyone in the room mirrored Morgan's reaction.

"Yeah. According to Kyle, there was a five-year old boy that died during it. He says he doesn't know all the particulars, but it's always bothered Chase…"

"Wow," Emily said, seeing the plucky woman in a whole new light.

"Anyway, they got their files, and then there was that incident we were able to see—he said Chase tried to help them escape, but he got dragged of and stuck inside that dungeon below ground. First they let the room nearly fill with water, and then they drained it and stuck Jason Hennessey in with him, for whatever reason."

"Same reason I think _he_ was in that hole," Rossi replied. "I spoke with Jason, and he said pretty much the same thing—he got snatched, they made him build that plane, then load it with whatever was dropped on the embassy, and then got hauled off to 'entice' his, ah…"

"Partner," Morgan said.

"Okay, partner, into flying it."

"What was the incentive for him to build it?" Emily asked.

"They told him pretty much the same thing a lot of these people were told—do what we tell you, or the most important person in your life will die," Rossi said.

"I got the same thing out of both Roger Schafer and Thomas Charles," Morgan added. "Both were threatened with the murders of their fathers, one by assassination, one by faked suicide, and they were told that they would be framed for it."

"It's going to be near impossible to prosecute any of these people for what they did," Emily mused. "I mean, every one of them was told that someone else's life hung in the balance if they refused…"

"There's a term for that, I think," said Morgan. "Reid would know…"

"Speaking of which, where the hell _is_ he?!" Rossi said, his voice rising.

There was a knock on the door. A familiar mop of sand colored hair greeted the profilers' eyes.

--"Hi,"— Kyle said, his fingers moving as usual. Looking at Oliver, he signed something. Oliver shook his head, and replied in kind. Whatever was said, it was not what Kyle wanted to hear. His fingers shot something else off, which Oliver responded to while trying to calm the man down.

A few more signs, and Kyle left. "What was that?" Morgan asked, the first one to regain his voice after that scene.

"He's still looking for Chase Davis. I told him that she's probably still in interrogation, and that I couldn't get to her in any case. He's gonna have to find Josh and talk to him."

"That's the other thing I can't figure out. Well, one of two things," Emily said.

"What's the other one?" Rossi asked.

"Why Hotch?" the raven haired woman wondered. "I mean, if the idea was to grab an FBI agent, there's plenty…"

"And they already had me under their thumb," Oliver reminded them.

"…so there had to be something about Hotch they wanted. Something tells me a profiler was not high on the list for these people, either…"

"No, probably not. Well, what else is there that we know about Hotch?" JJ said, trying to help piece this puzzle together.

"He was a lawyer…" Morgan said.

"Still is, Derek," Rossi gently corrected. "He pays his bar dues every year."

"Okay, but lawyers are pretty easy to come by," Emily reasoned. "I mean, look at mob lawyers and the like."

"Good point. So, what else?"

"He's got SWAT training and experience," Morgan said, ticking it off on his hand.

"That's true," Emily said. "He doesn't miss, either."

"As only Reid could tell you," Morgan said, thinking of all the times Hotch had drilled the younger agent in firearms training.

"Wait a minute," Oliver said, pulling out a file from earlier. "I know they said upstairs that they found some files on people in, ah, Hotch's? house…

"Yeah. Something to do with diplomats…" Rossi recalled. "Josh was telling me about that…"

"And we know that diplomats were targets in this little 'operation'…"

Morgan plowed through the pile of statements and paperwork, looking for the copy Josh had brought down of those files. "Here," he said. "There's files on at least four people…all Eastern European, all diplomats…and then… hey, what's this?" A pair of brown eyes stopped cold on a fifth set of files, these ones containing photographs of two Chinese men.

"That's Li Xiao, the Chinese ambassador!" Emily exclaimed. "I know him--my mother and he often worked together on nuclear arms summits and the like. A wonderful man, and a hell of a diplomat."

Just then another person stuck their head inside the makeshift war room. "Hey, has anyone heard from Dr. Reid, yet?" a face asked, it's horn-rimmed glasses slightly askew and the front of his dress shirt now seriously looking like it needed some ironing. "Garcia's been asking about him, ever since I mentioned the thing with his head…"

"Do you know where he went?" Rossi asked, his tone very serious.

"Technically…?"

"Now, Lynch." There was no room for argument.

"He said he was going to the Chinese embassy," Kevin admitted. "That was five hours ago, and there's been no word from him."

"Christ," Rossi spat. He picked up his coat at once.

"Where are you going?" Morgan called out.

"To go find that kid and staple his shoes to the floor."

Morgan grabbed his jacket. "Hey, wait up!"

Emily looked at Oliver and JJ, who were just staring at what had just happened. "I don't know about you, but I want to go talk to Hotch. Now, where are they?"

Oliver sighed. "Follow me. And grab Kyle while you're at it."

* * *

Chase Davis still stood staring at the one way glass. It felt like it had been hours since she'd been dumped inside this tiny space, and the boredom and worry were starting to get to her.

_If you're going to haul me off, just say so and be done,_ she thought. _Enough with the in-and-out bullshit…_

Just then the door opened. Chase peeled her eyes from the glass to see who was coming to question her now.

A pair of brilliant blue eyes met her bright green ones, and the relief and joy was transparent. The sandy-haired man raced over to her, and she returned the great bear hug he was giving her.

--You're all right,-- she said, tears rolling down her face.

--Yes, thanks to Oliver,-- Kyle replied. –What about you? They wouldn't tell me where you were…--

Chase's face fell. –I did something,-- she replied. –Something I'm not proud of…--

--I know. But you did it to save me.—

--Good luck trying to convince these people.—

The door creaked again, and this time Oliver Lawrence stepped through the entrance. "Hey," she said.

--Let's stick to sign.—

The expression on Chase's face was priceless. –You sign?—

--My mother was deaf.—

--Did you find your sister? Is she…-- Chase's hands dropped when a dark look crossed Oliver's face. –What happened?—

--The people who had us shot her,-- Kyle explained. –She's dead.—

--My God…--

--I just found out the bastard isn't dead, either,-- Oliver said, jumbling a few of the signs but the point still coming through. It had obviously been awhile since he'd used his hands to talk. –He's over in ICU down at Memorial…--

--What did you do, Chasie?-- Kyle asked. –Why all of this?—

--You remember Agent Hotchner?—

--Yeah. From the Brennan case.—

--That's him. They made us go to two embassies. We were supposed to kill the diplomats inside.—

Kyle's eyes widened. –You didn't.—

--No. Not me, anyway. Though I did have to shoot one and stab a very good friend to avoid them being killed by the 'hired help.'—

--This is unreal,-- Oliver said. He had taken the seat in front of Chase, while Kyle remained standing near the wall. –Who were these people?—

--I don't know. But there's an ambassador from the other embassy…P-R-E-N-T-I-S-S, I think her name is…--

--Prentiss? As in relation to Agent Prentiss?—

--Could be. They look similar.—

--My God…

--Well,-- said Kyle, looking up at the one-way glass. –What now?—

--We wait,-- Chase said flatly. –Hopefully they'll figure out I did what I had to to stop these people, not murder others.—

--I think they will,-- said Oliver. –You'd be surprised at what kinds of statements we got from the other captives.—

--At least Agent Hotchner is off the hook for most of this,-- Chase signed with relief.

--Why do you say that?—Oliver asked. He knew he was on the hook for kidnapping, but Josh didn't seem all that concerned with it at the moment. In any case, he hadn't been taken into custody…

--Cause you're not in custody,-- Chase replied. –That tells me a lot.—

Oliver just stared at the young woman, who let a small half-smile play against her lips.


	39. Tigers and Italian Wine

**Thanks for the reviews--I really look forward to them!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Memorial Hospital was abuzz with activity. Aside from the crisis on the second floor, there was a new patient in surgery that requited heavy guard. Most of the men in dark suits that surrounded the OR doors were privately hoping that the man wouldn't survive. A few were contemplating several 'accidents' the man could have between the operating table and a 6' x 8' cell.

When Morgan and Rossi entered the place, the first thing they did was ask about the Chinese ambassador. They had spent nearly two hours at the Chinese embassy, finding no sign of its inhabitants nor their wayward agent, but a large red stain on the foyer carpet and some helpful investigators pointed them in the direction of Memorial.

"We haven't released the fact that the ambassador is still alive," one of them had said. "One of your guys asked that we keep that under wraps for the time being."

"Tall, thin, wiry, talks like a hyperactive kid who's downed too much Coke?" Rossi had asked.

"That sounds like him," the investigator agreed. "Only he sounded more like a college professor than a kid."

Both profilers looked at each other. It was Reid, all right.

"Did he say why the ambassador's condition was to be played as a homicide?"

"No, but then I've learned not to question things when it comes to these higher-ups," the investigator had said. "I just figured you all had something to do with it, so we let it play."

"Keep telling the press that, then," Rossi said. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

On the way back to the car, Morgan voiced something.

"Why on earth would Reid cover up something like that?" he wondered. "I mean, usually it's the other way around—we say they're still alive when really they're not…"

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that myself. I mean, a diplomat's going to be big news, especially the murder of one. Couple that with it being the Chinese ambassador…"

"You think someone wanted to start a war?"

Rossi shrugged. "Could be. What better way to do that than to take out a well-liked and important figure from the mainland?"

"I've never heard of the man until tonight, Dave. How important can he be?"

"According to Emily, very. And she would know, don't you think?"

Morgan nodded. "Still, how does Reid figure into all of this?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that…"

"And?"

"I've decided to try a more drastic approach…"

* * *

At Memorial, the agents strode towards the front desk as if they owned the place. The admitting clerk looked on as yet another pair of fairly well-dressed people began asking questions.

"Can you tell us what floor they took the Chinese ambassador to?" Rossi asked after introducing himself and Morgan.

"Let me see those again," the woman said, holding her hand out towards their credentials. Both men handed them over without protest.

"Hmm," she said. "Worth more than my job to not check. Okay. The ambassador is on five, his son is on two, right next to the quarantine."

"Thanks," said Rossi. They turned and headed for the elevator.

"How do you want to do this?" the older agent asked.

"Question is, how good is their English?" Morgan said. "I don't know Chinese…"

"Me neither. Should've brought Emily, huh?"

"I don't think she knows any either." Morgan smiled, a small smile. "When she talks about that, it sounds like Europe and the Middle East were more her thing."

"Damn. Well, my experience is they younger you are, the better your English usually is. At least that's been true for me when it comes to foreign nationals and the like."

"And how many have you dealt with since you've been on the job?"

"Honestly?"

Morgan nodded.

"One."

"One." Morgan was both unimpressed and slightly amused.

"Yeah. Had a case, before you were born, I'm sure, that involved a guy who truly believed he was an honest-to-God vampire. Hailed from the Transylvania portion of Romania and everything. Had such bad English we almost had to point to stick figure drawings just to Mirandize him. Thankfully, he had a daughter who spoke better English because she'd been raised here in the States."

"Uh-huh. How come I've never heard of this guy?"

"Like I said, it was a long time ago."

Morgan pressed the button for two. "If I die from whatever's in that quarantine area, I'm coming back to personally haunt you the rest of your days."

"I just hope they can get an antidote in time."

The floor looked a little bizarre, having one whole wing of the area cordoned off with industrial strength plastic and warning signs everywhere.

"I feel like I've walked into _The Andromeda Strain_," Morgan quipped.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Hey, you two!" a snappish voice yelled, startling the agents. "This area is under quarantine!"

"We know," said Morgan, holding out his credentials. "We're hoping we can talk to Li Mao Xiong?"

The nurse hastily jabbed a finger at a door just near the plastic barrier. "In there. And _don't _come out until you're told to."

"Yes, ma'am," Morgan said under his breath as the two agents made a beeline for the patient's door. Inside they found a young Oriental man sitting up, slightly startled. In a hard plastic chair sat their missing agent.

"Reid, when I say 'don't go anywhere,' what does that generally mean?" Rossi asked, his voice layered with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, sir, but…"

"But nothing."

"Sir, if I…"

"What is it, Reid?"

"Dr. Reid is responsible for saving my life, sir," the Oriental man replied, cutting Reid off before he could begin. "Both mine and my father's. We, and the people of China, are greatly indebted to him."

Rossi looked at the man lying in the bed. "I see. How is your father, if I may?"

"Doing well, or so they tell me. The floor's been under quarantine."

"We heard," said Morgan. Looking at Reid, he asked, "You couldn't have called?"

"They took my phone once I got on this floor," Reid explained. "And this room doesn't have a telephone in it…"

"Okay, so now you're here and you're not going anywhere," Rossi said, ending the dispute. "Now, before I decide to brick you into an interrogation room back at Quantico for a month, what can you tell me about all this?"

Reid explained the phone call to Ambassador Prentiss, how her suspicions led him to the Chinese embassy, and how he'd found the ambassador and Mo lying in the foyer. He explained the reasoning behind the cover-up of the ambassador's rescue, and ended with the quarantine.

"Guys, Emily's mother is one of the people down there," he finished.

"Dear God," Morgan said. He pulled out his cell phone (no one had bothered to check him at the door) and made a quick phone call.

"Do you know what's made them sick?" Rossi asked.

"Not a clue. I was hoping you knew."

"Remember that chemist that we said went missing?"

"Yeah. Susan Howell."

"Those people made her create the toxin that made them sick. She's working on an antidote as we speak."

"Thank God."

"No kidding," said Morgan, who had finished his conversation. "Emily's on her way down now, with Susan Howell. They think they have something that might help, but she's not sure…"

"Anything at this point is better than nothing," Rossi said. "How many people came in?"

"Five," Reid replied. "I think I heard someone say that a couple of the diplomats died there at the embassy."

Everyone in the room was silent a moment.

"So, what else was there?" Reid asked. He wanted to be caught up, and fast.

"We managed to save most of the people that were being held," Morgan said. "Got one of the bastards behind this, too—some guy named Callahan…"

"Patrick Callahan?" Mo asked.

"Yeah, why?"

A long string of Chinese poured out of Mo's mouth. From the look on his face, the three agents determined that it wasn't singing the man's praises.

"You know him?" Rossi ventured.

"Yes. Evil man. He is always trying to set up his own little 'empire', along with his cousin Arthur Cordova. Man truly believes that domination is the key to gaining world power." Another curse fell from his lips.

"Oh-kay," Rossi said. "We believe he's the mastermind behind all of this."

"Co-mastermind, then," Mo replied. "Arthur is not far behind his cousin, I guarantee you."

"Now at least we have names," Morgan said.

"No one knew who had held them?" Reid asked.

"Not a one. They all described the men, but couldn't give a name." Rossi looked over Mo, who was still sitting with his hands folded over his wound. "How did you get that?" he asked.

"A friend."

"Some friend."

"If she had not, I would surely be dead. So too would my father."

"Can you tell me who this 'friend' is?"

Mo fell silent.

"It was Chase Davis," Reid answered. "She and Hotch were there."

"Not of their own accord, I assure you," Mo chimed. "As it is, we will not be seeking redress against her. She saved our lives, sirs."

"Hotch was there?" Rossi's train of thought was slightly stuck on that track for a moment.

"He did not attack us," Mo said firmly. "Though I know he was supposed to. Chase made sure he did not; she took that responsibility herself."

"Sounds to me like she was trying to keep Hotch out of the frying pan on this," Rossi said. "I talked with Josh for a bit. He says she admits to killing that man at the embassy--Cordova, I guess. Hotch shot out a pitcher of water."

"Why would she do that?"

No one had an answer.

"This is a bona fide nightmare," Morgan said. "All of our victims are culpable for various acts of terrorism, or at least aiding and abetting terrorism. Emily's right—how are we going to prosecute this?"

"I'm not sure I follow," Mo said. "You say that the 'victims' are all innocent?"

"Morally, if not legally," Morgan explained. He filled the young man in on the situation.

"Your friend is right," Mo said. "It will be difficult to prosecute. All of these people can prove coercion on the part of another to do these things you've mentioned."

"There's a term for it," Reid said. "It's called _tiger kidnapping_. It's a little like kidnap-for-ransom, except the 'ransom' is based on the target performing a 'service' of some kind for the kidnappers. A family member or loved one is usually held as 'collateral' until the 'service' is performed. It's a technique used a lot in Britain, though it's not isolated to that region. The best example is that of a bank robbery in Northern Ireland some years ago—two officials at the bank had their families taken hostage and the men were forced to literally 'steal' the money for the robbers."

"So why's it called 'tiger kidnapping'?" Morgan asked.

"Because it involves a great deal of time and patience on the part of the kidnappers," Reid said. "It's like a tiger that's stalking it's prey—very slow, methodical, and patient so that it can learn the habits and customs of it's intended victim."

"Well, there's your answer," said Morgan. "Could this be used as a defense?"

"It is all the time," said Mo. "As the doctor said, those who 'commit' the crime often are doing so under extreme duress. It would be more logical to target the masterminds behind the whole affair—you would have a much stronger case. And if Chase Davis needs representation, she will have it," Mo added. "I will represent her."

"She hasn't been charged yet," Rossi pointed out.

"Terrorism suspects in this country usually aren't. Should the man with her need representation as well, he will have it."

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes."

Morgan smiled. "Kid, no offense, but Hotch already has a damn good lawyer."

"Very well. The offer still stands." Mo winced as he turned slightly in the bed.

"What happened to Oliver?" Reid said, remembering the man who had been their first link to all of this.

Both Rossi and Morgan looked uncomfortable. "He's fine," Morgan said.

"But...?"

"It's his sister…"

"Is she all right?"

Morgan shook his head, very slowly. "Bastard killed her, and was about to kill Garcia along with her."

Reid looked as if someone had slapped him in the face. "My God," he whispered.

Suddenly a green-gowned face entered the room. "The quarantine's being lifted," the doctor said. "It's under control."

"How are the patients?" Rossi asked.

"Still weak, but better now that that woman came up with an antidote. We won't know just how extreme the damage is to their systems, but they will recover."

"You think there'll be effects?"

"Again, that's hard to say. I'm hoping that if there are, they're mild."

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mr. Li will be available for questioning tomorrow," the doctor added. "Until then, I must insist he get his rest."

The three agents tipped their heads in agreement, then bid Mo good-bye and headed for the ground floor.

"Reid?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah?"

"When we get back to the office, I want you to _stay there_."

Reid looked a little chagrined. "Yes, sir."

"Otherwise, I'm going to play Montresor to your Fortunato—and I'll find the smallest interrogation room we have in the building to do it."


	40. Off the Hook?

**Another twofer. Please remember to read and comment on Ch. 39!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Hotch?"

The man's head looked up. He'd been thinking about the colossal predicament he was facing, and was wondering just how he was going to get out of it this time. This time there was no Emily to save the day, no Gideon to take off and pull a misdirect. This time, it was all on him.

"Emily?" he asked.

"Long time, no see," the raven haired woman said. She settled into the chair facing him. "Been a hell of a day…"

Hotch's face was as unreadable as ever. "Yeah."

"There is some good news…"

Hotch raised one eyebrow about a sixteenth of an inch.

"We have the man responsible for all of this in custody."

"Really?"

"Yes. We don't have his name pinned down just yet, but we think it's Patrick Callahan, and he's in surgery—his pilot shot him, would you believe?"

"Really."

"Mm-hmm."

"Then who was the man Chase Davis shot?"

"We don't know yet."

"And this is _good_ news?"

"Well, we can say that none of the kidnap victims are likely to be prosecuted, either."

"Come again?" Hotch couldn't believe his ears.

"Reid called it 'tiger kidnapping.' Basically, it's kidnap-for-ransom, except the 'ransom' is someone _doing_ something for the kidnappers rather than _giving_ them something."

"In this case, it would be leveraging a loved one's life over the 'favor' they were expected to perform," Hotch said.

"Something like that."

"How's your mother?" Hotch asked.

"Much better, now that she's recovering from poisoning…"

"She was poisoned?"

"Yeah. That pilot we were looking for? Same people forced him to drop containers of toxin on the embassy. Two of the diplomats are dead; the other five will be fine in a few days."

"When was this?"

"Must have been after you and Chase were picked up. Mother was insisting that 'the girl' was 'right' about something, though she didn't say what…"

"Chase told your mother that we had been sent to kill all of the diplomats there. She, ah, didn't believe her…"

"She does now."

"I bet."

The two agents stared at each other for a long while, not saying anything. The truth of the matter was, there were now at least two people dead, and there was still the ethics of it all to consider…

"Was anyone else hurt?" Hotch wondered aloud, thinking about Kyle Parker and Garcia.

"Hmm?"

"Anyone else hurt?"

"Oh. Yeah, just one—Sarah Lawrence, a twenty-year old out of Georgetown. Her brother works up in counterterrorism—Oliver Lawrence."

"What happened?"

"The guy we've got in custody, Callahan? Literally decided to take the Romans at their word. He shot Sarah first, and was about to shoot Garcia before the pilot grew a backbone."

"What was Lawrence's 'favor'?"

"He's the one who gave them Chase Davis," Emily explained. "Afterward, he had to pick up a 'package' from them, which contained a flash drive that caused a complete electrical meltdown of our systems. The techs will be working overtime for at least two months. Kevin Lynch is heading up that effort as we speak."

"He kidnapped Chase Davis?" Now it was Hotch's turn to smile, even if only a fraction. "That had to have been difficult."

"Um, actually, all I needed was the elevator," a voice replied. The door opened, and in walked a young man who could've been Reid's double, if not for the deep blue eyes and the fact that he was about five-ten.

"Oliver Lawrence?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sorry about your sister."

"I'll feel a lot better when someone plants that asshole into the ground up to the neck, if you'll forgive me," Oliver said. "I just left Miss Davis. She says she's 'got you covered,' though I don't know…"

Even Hotch was puzzled. "How's that?"

"She claims you're off the hook for everything today. That she was the one who did it all."

Hotch thought about that for a minute. It had been Chase, not him, that had attacked the Chinese people at the embassy. It had been Chase, not him, that had shot the man at the U.S. embassy. He had been there, but he had really played no part in anything—unless shooting glass pitchers of water was now a crime.

"Technically, she's right," Hotch agreed. "But there's bound to be an accessory charge."

"Tiger kidnapping, remember?" Emily reminded him.

"Hey, I could claim the same thing, but then I let Dr. Reid go," Oliver said. "I'm sure my lawyer's gonna have his work cut out for him."

Hotch could smile a bit more now. "I'll represent you."

"What?"

"I'm also a lawyer."

"Oh." The younger man shifted his weight a bit. "Thanks, I think."

"No one ees going to jail, not today," said a booming voice from the doorway. "Not aftair what I 'ave seen, and haird."

"We're not?" Oliver looked deeply surprised.

"I must say, I am ashamed at you, Oh-lee-vair," Josh continued. "I would 'ave thought you would 'ave confided in mee as to your troubles."

Oliver hung his head. "How could I know who was in on it?"

"Thees ees true. 'owevair, that traitor 'anover weel be on thee fairst flight to Cuba post-haste. I am finished with 'im."

"What about the man we have at Memorial?" Emily asked.

"My dear, 'e weel bee seeing the eensides of a concrete block before long," Josh said. "I 'ave no doubt that 'e weel bee thee fairst pairson identified as one of thee traitors."

"And my sister, Josh." Oliver's voice fell low. "What about her?"

"'e weel pay for that, _certainment._"

"I failed her."

"Hey, you did everything you could," Emily said. "You put your own life and your career at risk just to save her…"

"And it didn't work, did it?"

No one challenged him.

"All I've proven is that anyone can be gotten to," Oliver added. "I mean, I've seen your files, Agent Hotchner. I've worked with your people. I've spoken to countless people today that couldn't believe you would be in the center of a murder plot. If I may, what did they have over you?"

"My son," Hotch replied. "I have a three-year old. They threatened to hurt both him and his mother, my ex-wife."

Emily's eyes were searching that stone face. "That's not all, is it?" she asked.

"No."

"What else, then?"

"Like you said, Oliver, you've worked with 'my people.'"

The light went on in Oliver's head. "They threatened them too."

"Yes. They already had Garcia, who's seen one bullet too many for her line of work. I couldn't risk the chance that they'd go after anyone else."

"I see." Oliver hung his head, a combination of grief and shame. Privately, he was seriously considering handing Josh his resignation.

"There weel bee an eenquiry," Josh said, his own features softening. "Unteel then, you air free to go." He held the door open, and ushered the room's occupants out.

"What about Chase Davis?" Oliver asked.

"Her, I need some more time with," Josh replied. "There ees more to her story than she is telling us…" He looked over at Oliver. "You weel join me?"

"Yeah. Sure." Oliver strode towards the steel door. To his surprise, Hotch followed him.

"This I want in on," the agent explained.


	41. Chase's Statement

**The reviews are love, people. I enjoy them--they are better than gold!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"I met Mo at Georgetown. He was pre-law, I was…well, pre something else. Why?"

"Eet seems rathar eenteresteeng to me that you should be called for secureetee raisons at a foreign embassee," Josh said. "The Chinese securetee ees not good enough?"

Chase looked at the table. She knew when to keep her mouth shut.

"Miss Davis! You will answer to me!"

Chase looked up.

"I have, ah, some background that Mo obviously thought better suited to something like today's summit," she said cagily.

"Background?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You weel elaborate, yess?"

Chase remained silent.

"Vairy well," Josh said, undaunted. "Let us go now to Ol-lee-vair's eenceedent. Is thair anee raison why these peeple would wish you to, eh, work for them?"

"Apparently my name has gotten out in certain circles."

"Ah, _mais si, _your 'sideline'."

"I sincerely doubt they were trying to recruit me for my sign language skills."

"Chase," Hotch said warningly. It was like working with a snappier version of Morgan when provoked.

A head nodded once. "I've been known to do work for various organizations from time to time. And before you ask, no, I can't comment on much of it. It's beyond classified, some of it."

"And thees peeple found you 'ow, exatclee?"

_Pulled my name out of the Yellow Pages_, Chase thought bitterly. Aloud, she replied, "My guess is someone in the alphabet soup organizations in this town has a serious mole problem."

Josh's stoic face flinched a little. Chase knew she'd hit a nerve.

"'ow did they know you would bee an expert shot?"

"Mole, I assume. I don't keep my records out for just anyone to look at."

"You 'ave explained Mr. Parker's presence preesicelee," Josh said. "but not your own."

"Look. For the eight-millionth time, I got a phone call about one-thirty this morning, or last night, or what the hell ever it is now. It was Mo—Li Mao Xiong, the ambassador's son. He called saying he had a job for me, and wanted me to take some time to think about it."

"Did you?"

"I didn't have to. I knew I would take it immediately. I had a meeting set for four o'clock this afternoon to go over procedure. He's had me do this sort of thing before, and his father likes my work. It's a win-win for everyone. Plus, they're friends of mine."

"Aha. So, you were alreadee supposed to bee there?"

"Yeah. Then about two hours later, I got another call. It was those bastards who took Kyle. They said that they had him, and that I would be hearing from them. I immediately ran over to Kyle's apartment and found he wasn't there?"

"Deed you try to look for 'im?"

"You ever try looking for a deaf person, Agent Hollenbeck?"

Josh's silence said volumes.

"I thought so. You can't just call out—you have to actually _spot_ them with your eyes. I searched the entire place—he wasn't there. However, there was a dead cell phone that had called a number I knew."

"Miss Garcia's."

"Yeah." Chase took a breath before continuing. "Kyle would have said something to me if he was planning to come to D.C., so I knew he hadn't gone of his own accord."

"'e does this, 'tells' you?"

"Hey, look, I'm also his boss," Chase pointed out. "Our day jobs kind of dictate that."

"I see."

Chase wondered if he really did.

"I went up to Garcia's, on a hunch," she continued. "I got there, and I found her boyfriend asleep in bed—but she wasn't anywhere to be found."

"A familiar scene."

"Yeah. I woke up the boyfriend—I think they doped him—and hauled him in here about five this morning. Three hours later, Agent Prentiss walked in on us doing some preliminary investigation."

"Mm. Thees I know already, from Kevin Lynch. He 'as said quite a lot about you."

"I bet."

"So far you've only proved that Chase knew about the kidnapping," Hotch remarked. "You haven't proved much else."

"Yess," said Josh. "What I want now ees to know about the events in the elevator. 'ow deed Oh-lee-vair manage to kidnap an appairentlee well-trained eendeevidual such as yourself?"

"A small space and a loaded gun do wonders, Agent Hollenbeck."

"You were armed, yess?"

"Your boy Oliver was pretty determined. We—Dr. Reid and I—managed to talk him down, but that wasn't until after we were bound and on our way to get handed over."

"Had Oh-lee-vair told you why 'e wass taking you?"

"I don't think he really knew. He said he had to hand me over or else his sister would suffer. They seemed like a close pair, from his reaction."

"Thees I do not know."

"Says a lot."

"Chase!" Hotch's tone was now incredulous and surprised.

"Hey, this guy's trying to tell me I _planned _all this. I kind of have a right to question him on his relationship with his own people, don't you think?" Chase's face was tight and her eyes sparkling.

The look on Hotch's face said otherwise.

Instantly Chase's tone softened. "Okay. I'm sorry for that."

"Ees undairstandable. Now, what deed Oh-lee-vair do afterward?"

"Dr. Reid and I had convinced him to leave Dr. Reid out of it. His original 'order' had been to bring me 'and anyone with me'. I still haven't figured out why."

"We may nevair know. So, 'e gave you ovair?"

"Yeah. I was blindfolded, and sat in a van of some sort, and driven in circles. When I could see again, I was in a concrete room. A man in a white suit—the same man I killed later—was taking to me."

"What deed he say?"

"He said that he was impressed with my work, and that he would allow me to speak to Kyle Parker."

"You deed this?"

"Yes. I had to speak through the man, because they wouldn't allow me the use of my hands. Something to do with 'security' reasons."

"And then?"

"I started going into a very abbreviated shorthand Kyle and I use, which cut the man out of the middle. We both got hauled off in different directions. I didn't see him again until the incident in the balcony room."

"Hmm. I 'ave 'eard about thees. Agent 'otchnair says you tried to eencite an escape?"

"I saw what they were doing to Kyle and Garcia. I got us out of our 'room' and made my way back to the room I'd spoken to Kyle in, the balcony room. We managed to kill the lights, and I was hoping to haul both of them out of there."

"For the record, we were not successful in that attempt," Hotch said, ever the lawyer.

"Noted. Now, what ordair were you given?"

"I was told I had to kill a man I knew well, Li Xiao, the Chinese ambassador, along with his son, Li Mao Xiong. Agent Hotchner was to take the ambassador; I was to kill Mo."

"Mo?"

"It's what I call him. We're friends."

"Aha. What happened next?"

"I was shown what would happen if I did not follow through with my directive."

"Which was?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Mademoiselle, you air being charged weeth pairforming acts of murdair and terrorism. I would bee forthcomeeng eef I were you."

Chase heaved another heavy sigh.

"I saw a room-sized screen of Kyle, locked in some kind of small room. He was in pitch dark, making him functionally blind as well as deaf. He was terrified, and that was _before_ they started pouring water on top of him by the gallon."

"They were drowning 'im?"

"Essentially, yes. It was meant to be a powerful warning. It worked."

"Still, you deed not 'follow through,'" Josh said. "'ow deed you manage that?"

"For one, these people didn't know just how close I am with the Li's. I was able to speak to Mo and tell him what was going on without anyone knowing."

"'ow?"

--Like this.—

"I see."

"Yeah. I had to hide that, too. Then I followed the plan I had laid out."

"Deed the ambassador know of thees 'plan'?"

"Yes. Mo informed him, using Cantonese."

"Hmm. Then you whair taken to the embassee?"

"Yeah. The plan changed, or was modified. We had to go in the embassy and kill the diplomats there."

"And 'ow were you to do thees?"

"By using weapons that had been smuggled in previously. The ambassador that admitted us was also coerced."

"Their statements 'ave been taken."

"Okay then." Chase paused to take a breath. "Agent Hotchner and I were admitted, we picked up the weapons, and we were led to the balcony to prepare. After a few moments, I saw the man in the white suit standing below, as if he were waiting for the result. I signaled Agetn Hotchner, who then shot out a pitcher of water. It startled the diplomats and the security below, and that left me the opportunity to take the shot."

"You wair not afraid that Mr. Parker would be 'urt?"

"Of course I was. But I couldn't kill those people either."

"You wair lucky."

"Yeah."

"Thank you. We 'ave taken Mr. Parker's statement as well as Agent 'otchnair's."

Chase looked at the round man with great interest.

"You weel have to stay 'ere unteel we can speak with the Chinese ambassador."

Chase nodded.

"'owevair, I do not see why you must stay down 'ere. Come, we will go." Josh picked himself up out of his seat and held the door open, ushering Hotch, Oliver and Chase out the door. To her great surprise, most of the BAU team was waiting outside, as well as Kyle Parker. The latter settled in next to his friend, hurriedly signing away.

--How'd it go?—

--I think I'll be okay,-- she said. –You?—

--Well, I have to say I still really hate the dark…--

Just then a phone rang. It was Hotch's. "Hotchner," he said, pausing a moment. He muttered something into the phone and then hung up. Looking at Chase and Kyle, he said, "There's someone here to see you…"


	42. Brian Parker

**Reviews are love, people. They make me happy! :)**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Where is he?! I didn't come an hour in for a wild goose chase!"

"Sir, they're on their way up," JJ replied, trying her best to keep the young man calm. "Settle down."

"Lady, _you _all called my father's house in the middle of the night and told _me_ my brother needs a translator," the man replied. "And now I can't get a straight answer out of anyone. For the last time, where's Kyle?"

"Right here," came a welcome voice to JJ's ears. It was Chase Davis, who had just come up from the basement rooms. "What the hell do you want?"

"Oh, great," the man spat, a look of contempt on his face. "It would have to be about _you_. What happened, or 'can't you tell me?'"

"Not now, Brian, I swear to God," Chase shot back. "Why are you here anyway? It's not like you give a shit."

"He's my brother, Chase."

"Yeah, the one you can't even talk to without an interpreter." Chase stared at the man in disgust.

Kyle stood between them, trying desperately to keep up with the fierce argument. Looking at Oliver, he flashed a hopelessly confused look on his face.

--He says he's your brother,-- Oliver signed.

--He is. I have two of them. I haven't seen this one in years. What's he doing here?—

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked the man.

"For the eighteenth time, you lot called me," the man said. "Said my brother here was here at Quantico, of all places, and that he needed someone to translate for him. I came up." He stared at Chase. "What, you weren't there to pinch-hit?"

Chase looked like she might consider shooting the man in the legs.

"We did need someone to translate, or so we thought. Miss Davis was occupied at the time, or else we'd have used her. As it is, we managed to find another translator in the building," Rossi said, his _no-nonsense_ voice very apparent. "Now, you want to give us a name?"

"Brian Parker. I'm Kyle's older brother. Now, can I take him home? Our father's pretty worried."

--Worried?—Kyle's long fingers asked. Oliver translated.

"Yeah. Minute I said you were in trouble he got worried. Now that I get here, I can see why…"

"Go to hell, Brian." Chase's tone was becoming more irate.

"And this is exactly my point, Davis," the man continued. "Ever since you left for college, it's always been secrets and half-truths with you. You're gonna end up just like Ben one of these days, and you'll probably take Kyle with you!"

"Says the man who ran out of that house the first chance he got! How old _were_ you when you decided that your dad and your brothers were second-class because they can't hear?!"

The room fell quiet for a moment, but Brian wasn't finished.

"What cockamamie scheme nearly got him killed, Chase? Contrary to what you might think, I do actually care if he's still breathing…"

"Yeah, because if he is you won't have to make an appearance at the funeral," Chase retorted. "We're fine."

"He doesn't look fine," Brina mused.

"Then ask him!" Chase said. "Use those hands of yours for something other than yourself for once!"

"Stay out of this, Davis," Brian said warningly.

"Like hell!" Chase shot back. Beside her, Oliver was struggling to keep up with the fierce fighting. His hands were still rusty, though Kyle knew he was trying. In exasperation, Kyle picked up a nameplate from one of the desks and slammed it into the monitor screen, causing both a loud crash and the room to instantly fall silent.

Kyle looked at Oliver. –Translate,-- he said. The look of determination on his face was obvious.

Oliver readied himself.

--Brian, get the hell out,-- Kyle began. –I asked these people to call Dad because I needed a translator. As you can see, I got one.—

"No. You're leaving, right now."

--No. I'm not. I'm not the little kid you used to leave in a room somewhere while you snuck off to ditch me. I couldn't begin to tell you about the things I've seen, and done…--

"She'll get you killed, way she is," Brian argued.

Kyle looked incredulous. –Like you care. Do you really care what happens to me? Or Landon?—

"Of course…"

--When's the last time you asked us about what we were doing?—

"Hey, I've been busy!"

--Story of your life.-- Brian's face contorted with fury as Kyle continued. –I love what I do, Brian. Whether you 'approve' or not, I love what I do. And even if Chase hadn't let me in on her sideline, I'd have helped her anyway. That's what people who care about each other do.—

"Will someone tell me what the hell happened?" Brian said exasperatingly, glancing once over the many face that surrounded him.

"Your brother, along with Miss Davis and many, many others, were forced to take part in a terrorist plot," Rossi supplied.

"_What?!_"

"Beyond thees, nothing more can bee said," Josh said, his tone final. "The eenvesteegation ees ongoeeeng. Now, air you quite feeneeshed?"

"Come on, Kyle," Brian said, waving a hand toward him. "We're going."

--No.—

--Now!—

Kyle planted his feet firmly, his legs feeling the remnants of the computer screen that hadn't caught on fire. Only a quick move by Morgan with a fire extinguisher had saved the place from going up in smoke.

"Looks like he's not leaving," Emily quipped.

"And you can't make him," Rossi added.

Brian looked with contempt at the faces surrounding him. "One of these days, Davis, he'll wind up dead—and it'll be on you," he snapped. "He's not a whole person, like you—he can't handle the things you put up with."

"I'd say then that you don't know your brother at all," a voice replied. It was Hotch. "I've seen him work, even in the field, and he's very good."

"Congratulations," Brian snapped. Realizing he would lose this fight, he simply stormed out the glass doors and onto the elevator.

"What an asshole," another voice said. A room full of eyes was surprised to hear that come out of JJ's mouth.

"Sorry. It's just…"

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Chase said. "Remember I told you once that a lot of our students are dumped off at the school?"

"Yeah?"

"There's an example of why."

Suddenly a phone rang. "Prentiss…" There were a few short replies, a couple of 'uh-huh's' and an 'okay' before she hung up. "Well, the antidote is working. My mother and the other diplomats are going to be just fine, though they're probably going to be a little queasy for a few days."

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"What about Mo?" Chase asked. "How is he?"

"He's doing all right," Reid replied. "I talked with him earlier. He's at Memorial, along with the ambassador."

Chase looked like a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Thank God," she said.

"He says that they won't press the issue, either—that as strange as it seems, you saved their lives by doing that."

--"I just can't get that image out of my head,"—Chase said, finally remembering to sign. Her anger at Brian Parker had finally subsided. –"It killed me, having to leave them like that…"—

"I steel wish to speek with them," Josh said. He stared at the young woman for a very long moment. "Though, I must say, eef you wish a career change, you might fit well with me…"

Chase smiled. --"Thanks, but I like my job, Agent Hollenbeck. More control over what I do. But for you…"-- She handed the round man her card. --"_Carte blanche. _Same as these guys."-- The young woman waved her hand at the BAU team, who already had her number locked away in Garcia's system and their handhelds. --"Though I am thinking I might focus more on my sideline and less at the school…--

"Why?" JJ asked.

--"Because of things like today,"-- Chase replied. –"Kyle knows what he's getting into, but what if that had been one of the kids? Or the professors? They didn't sign on for that. Plus, Ericson's been getting on my nerves."—

JJ and Reid shared a look. They remembered their greeting from the college president from the Brennan case.

"Come, Oh-lee-vair," said Josh. "There ees only five 'ours before wee come back to work…"

Privately, Oliver was doing some heavy thinking. He still had a funeral to arrange, Sarah's things to deal with, and the future of what he would do now was still in doubt.

"Josh, I need a few days…"

"_Mais si. _Your seestair." Josh grew solemn. "Of course."


	43. Niagara Falls

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

"Sir, I have to ask you what's in the canister."

Oliver cradled the silver urn as if its contents were worth more than gold. To him, they were far more precious.

"Ashes," the young man explained. "I want to drop them from the bridge."

The border patrol guard slowly shook his head. "Can't, son," he replied. "Aside from the fact that it violates about a dozen laws on both sides, it's a health risk. We just can't allow you to do that."

"Please," Oliver said. "This place was the one place my sister really loved. She wanted to be dropped from the center of the bridge into the rapids. Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm sorry. We can't allow it."

Oliver thanked the guards and turned towards the door. He was stuck in Niagara Falls, New York with no way to allow Sarah to 'take in' the falls one last time. He'd thought about taking the urn down towards the Bridal Veil Falls, which were smaller, but he had been turned away there, too.

The young man had been drifting since he'd taken leave from the counterterrorism unit. He'd packed away Sarah's things from her apartment near Georgetown, making sure that certain articles went to various friends or people that had been important to her. Her violin he kept, as well as a notebook of her code-work. He already had several nice pictures of Sarah, both alone and as part of family portraits. He'd dusted off one she'd had of them with their parents, smiling in front of the Falls as seen from the Rainbow Bridge.

Oliver found himself ambling near Goat Island, making a beeline towards the water. Sarah had loved the water, always trying to touch it when they had been kids.

"_Look, Dad! Look, Ollie! I can almost reach it!"_

"_Sarah! Don't get too close—if you fall in, that's the end of you!"_

"_I won't. See, Ollie, I got some!"_

"_Yeah, Sarah, you did!"_

_Her wet fingers had pulled up a rock from the bed. She eagerly held it up so their mother could see, her tiny free hand signing wildly._

_--Mom, look! Isn't it pretty?—_

_--It's beautiful, honey. Come up from there, you'll fall in.—_

_--No, I won't!-- "Ollie, put me down! I can get back up there myself!"_

"_Come on, waterbug. Time for dinner."_

_"Oooh! What are we having…?"_

The five-year old Sarah vanished into memory, and Oliver found himself standing alone near the edge. It had been at least eleven years since he'd been out here, and the roar of falling water threatened to entrance him into taking just one more step…

"_Ollie! Hurry up, Mom and Dad are waiting!"_

"_I'll be there in a second, Sarah. I'm trying to get one more shot from this angle…"_

"_There's more important things than a good picture, Oliver. Mom's about ready to grab your ear and haul you up—eighteen or not…"_

"_Oh, come on. I remember you being all too eager to stay once…"_

"_I was five!"_

"_I didn't see you complain when we decided to come back here…" An impish grin had crossed Oliver's face._

"_Ollie." Sarah's voice tried to be stern, but the grin she wore made the attempt a moot point. "Fine. One more. But then we're going, or Dad's gonna carry you to the car himself."_

The clicks of the camera shutter faded as well. It was a gray, gloomy day today—there was no sunshine, no warmth. Oliver thought it just as well. He wasn't in the mood for sunshine.

The young man stood against the railing, taking in the sight of the rushing water. It ran just as his thoughts had, curled and bent and free-flowing, with no real form or end in sight. Josh was impatient for him to return to work, but Oliver was having serious doubts about returning to counterterrorism.

"_Oh-lee-vair, you air needed more than evair," the thick voice said. "Many of these…these 'premeirs', they do not 'ave what eet takes, I think."_

"_You've gotta give them time. Rome wasn't built in a day, Josh."_

"_Eh, thees ees thee Director's way of telling mee I am off my game, no?"_

"_Josh. You're the best mole-spot I know."_

"_Tell that to Chreesteean 'anovair."_

Oliver had said nothing. Josh might be slightly agoraphobic when it came to his work, but there was still no one better.

"_So, you will be returnairing, yes?"_

Oliver had evaded an answer. Right now, he wasn't really sure what he wanted to do. Josh would have him believe that it was an isolated incident, that within a couple of weeks everything could go back to normal.

As Oliver stared at the free-flowing water, he realized that it wasn't that simple. This wasn't like when Dad had died from a heart attack, or Mom from cancer—it wasn't just a part of life, something that was sad but inevitably unavoidable.

Sarah had been murdered. She had been targeted specifically by people who sought to use innocent people for their own twisted ends. There were still nights he woke up in cold sweat, his dreams still reliving the sight of Sarah's hand against the small plane window. The sight of Sarah, lying pale and still on the stretcher, having died while he'd saved others. He could hear the sounds of the cruel voices of the people who'd taken her from her bed as she slept and had taunted Oliver with her life as clearly as if they were still speaking.

Even now, Oliver sincerely wished he had been in Chase Davis's shoes, locking the sight of one of those men through a scope. He dreamed about what it had to have felt like to pull that trigger.

But there was still a part of him that wanted the bastards to live. To live in misery until even the world would no longer have them. Those were the times he'd woken up crying, wishing plagues on the now-crippled man who sat awaiting trial. For him, Patrick Callahan could not be convicted fast enough. Nor could Christian Hanover, which struck him even more deeply. Unlike Callahan, Christian had been a friend, a teammate, a partner. It still felt indescribable, the range of emotion he felt every time he came across a picture of the two of them together, smiling as if there wasn't a care in the world.

He thought of the people he'd met that day, people like Dr. Reid and Agent Hotchner and the others. He thought a lot about Chase Davis, her attitude and outlook on things a severe contrast to his own. He'd learned a bit about the woman through Kyle Parker, who was fast becoming a good friend. It was Kyle who'd helped reawaken a part of himself he'd thought lost when his mother had died.

_How can they do what they do and not go insane? _he wondered.

The rush of water assailed his ears. A light rain began to fall, one Sarah had called a 'spitting rain' when they had been younger.

Oliver was more convinced than ever that he couldn't go back to work for Josh. Not that he had lost any respect for the man, nor affection for him, that was quite the opposite; but rather, he felt that if he had been able to be targeted and manipulated as well as he had, it could happen again, and counterterrorism couldn't handle another fiasco like that.

Heaving a sigh, Oliver stared at the silver jar that was still cradled in his arm.

"Sorry, Sarah," he whispered, speaking half to himself. "I couldn't even give you the funeral you wanted."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," a voice said, startling Oliver out of his reverie. He turned to his left and saw two people idly leaning against the wooden railing, string out at the water. One of them had a mop of sandy-blonde hair that was being tousled by the stiff wind. The other was raven haired, and had bright green eyes.

"How did you…"

"It's our job to know things," the woman replied. "Besides, your boss was pretty helpful. He's worried about you, you know."

Oliver twitched his eyebrows and bit his lip a bit. "I can't go back there," he said. "Aside from everything else, I can't bear the thought of going back and seeing all those old memories, day in and day out."

"I know the feeling. I have a certain house that does the same thing to me."

"What brought you up here?"

"Besides the gorgeous view? Well, to look in on you. Things didn't end so well for you back in Quantico, and there's some people I know that were beginning to worry…"

"How are they?"

"Doing fine. Garcia wanted to come up, but then they got thrown into this case out in Paducah somewhere. She asks all the time if there's something she can do to help. Dr. Reid as well. Agents Hotchner and Rossi looked a little concerned when they found out you weren't back at work yet, and I hear Morgan's taken a bit of a liking to your style."

"Really."

"It's true. Emily doesn't lie."

"How's her mom?"

"Back at work, planning a second summit with Mo's father. They're hoping to get more people involved. I'm supposed to head up security there, which is kind of a laugh, considering…"

"Hey, you did what you had to."

"I guess. Mo wears that thing like a badge of honor now; can't get him to cover it up half the time."

The two fell silent, standing next to the young man with the sandy hair. He picked up his hands towards the young woman and moved them pointedly.

The woman shook her head.

The young man signed again, his face determined.

Another shake.

"Ask him!" the man finally said, though the words were blurred by a thick, fuzzy voice.

"Ask me what?" Oliver asked.

Chase looked down at her shoes. Her face held that mysterious half-grin Oliver had come to like. "He wants to know if I've asked you something yet," she explained.

"What?"

"Well, ah…we were thinking."

"About?"

"Well, you know I've taken a more active role in my sideline…"

"Oh, yeah."

"And we've decided we could really use an extra pair of hands. Kyle wants to hire some guy just out of college, but I said we needed an experienced individual, one who's not afraid to bend rules a bit and has a lot of passion for the job."

"And?"

"We hired you two days ago." The smile on Chase's face grew a little wider. "That is, if you're interested…"

Oliver thought about this proposal. It was much like he'd been doing for Josh, only it would give him the fresh start he'd been looking for…

"I'll think about it."

"Good. Think fast, 'cause that summit's in two weeks…"

For the first time in five weeks, Oliver smiled. He looked out at the open water, still rushing past them as it had before time began. A few hundred yards away was the crest of the falls, its edge bubbling with white foam.

"Hold this," Oliver said, handing Chase the silver urn. Before Chase could ask, Oliver hopped the fence and held on to the railing on the other side.

--What are you doing?!—Kyle asked, his hands flying.

"Something I should have done sooner," he replied, making sure Kyle could read his lips. He took the urn from Chase, lifted the lid, and stood precariously over the edge of the riverbed.

"Good-bye, Sarah," he whispered, pouring the contents into the rushing water. "Tell Mom and Dad I'll be all right."

After a few seconds, the last remnants of Sarah Lawrence's earthly remains floated into the rushing foam and plummeted to the depths of the lake below. Oliver watched as it fell with tears in his eyes.

A hand clasped over Oliver's, keeping him from falling in himself. "You ready?" a voice asked.

Oliver gave a small smile. "Yeah. I think I am."

The young man crawled back over the fence, and wandered towards the direction of town, his new friends taking places on either side of him.

_In the end, it'll be all right,_ he thought as he led Chase and Kyle to a tiny hole-in-the-wall known for making the world's best hot chocolate and crispy turnovers.

* * *

**And with that, the end. This was by far my longest story ever, in any format--nearly 260 pages and almost 84,000 words! I sincerely hope you've all enjoyed the ride, and please remember to leave shiny shiny reviews. I am considering a stand alone for my intrepid trio (to be posted on FP) and we will definetely see more of Chase, Kyle, Oliver, and Josh. Thanks much! :)**


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